Migrant Fleet Marine
by Serza
Summary: Can a Quarian Marine survive the Reaper war? And how did she end up with the Special Forces in the first place? A take on Quarian SF's with OCs as well as known characters. 2179-2186.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

* * *

**[Date classified], 2186**  
**Menae, Palaven's largest moon, Trebia system, Apien Crest**

_BOOM_

"GET DOWN!"

"What _was_ that?"

"Harvester!"

"Alpha's gone! I repeat, Alpha's gone! Major! I need orders!"

"Bravo, take left flank. Charlie, on me, we've got center - Hisha! Wake up! Grab your marksmen, right flank's yours!"

That was the cue. Materializing out of thin air, Sar emptied the last of her Viper's magazine in a Marauder. "Marksmen! Right! On me!"

Half a dozen men have suddenly crouched up in a nearby ditch, darting for the completely open flank.

Not waiting for them to take positions, Sar hit her cloak again, closed in with two long leaps and stabbed a Husk in the _thing_'s forehead, drawing her Phalanx in place of the now-dropped marksman rifle by her feet, putting a hole in another's chest.

The drill round stopped no sooner than it found a massive hulking form...

"_BRUTE_!"

"FRAG THAT THING!"

A vicious swing from the creature...

"ARGH!"

"CORPSMAN!"

Thoughts were a blur - _Armor... Weakness... Fire..._

Then a plan emerged... "Cover me!" - the order was as unneccessary as explaining her plan - there was nobody to follow it.

Hitting her cloak, Sar set on a sprint towards the offending Reaper...

"Hisha! Are you crazy? _Get back_!" ... Major Reegar. He knew when to stand back. Not this time...

She pushed the thoughts aside and circled the Brute - now hell bent on wiping out the rest of her squad.

She leaped...

And found herself on a surface of flesh modified with cybernetics, pushing back the urge to vomit as her suit receptors transferred the feeling to her very hands...

"Not today, you _big dumb bosh'tet_!"

Armor. Weak to fire and any penetrative ammunition... _Incinerate_...

As Hisha's Omni-Tool fired off a deadly ball of plasma, her cloak finally gave out to cool down...

The Brute roared in... was that pain?... and reared on it's legs to throw Sar off.

Burned herself from such a close quarters discharge of thousand degree hot ball of _hell_, Sar couldn't hold on...

And found herself againist a stone, unable to move her legs.

This was it. As the Goliath turned to David, the fight seemed over.

"Not today..."

Years of drill forced Hisha to raise her Phalanx, still loaded with Drill ammunition...

And empty the rest of it in her nemesis as darkness began to creep in her vision.

Having enough, the Brute slumped dead, it's huge claw-arm falling two feet away from the rock...

"Close call... Job done, Major."

The last thing she saw before passing out was her platoon getting torn apart by Ravager fire.

* * *

Footsteps... "_Spirits_... They really held out, didn't they?" Flanging voice...

Turians?

"Commander! We've a live one!"

"Command, this is Third Taetrus. Need medical on our location, sterile environment! We've a Quarian survivor." Another voice, presumably the Turian commanding officer...

The first voice came back, closer, yelling to the distance at first... "I need a CLS here! Doc, where are you?!" ... then it went quieter, as if to speak to her... "We've got you... Sergeant Hisha. Don't worry."

Sfc. Sar'Neda vas Neema blacked out, unable to explain the only 'name' on her poison green enviro-suit was the nickname they gave her when she joined 1st Special Forces of the Migrant Fleet Marines...

Hisha. The original name of the deadliest snake of Rannoch. A relatively ancient Khelish word, unused since the Morning War. Except scientific datapads and, since 2183, the 1st SF stationed onboard the Neema.

Many of the scientist described the snake as a lethal ambush predator. Capable of lying in wait for days on end, to deliver one precise, mortal strike and then disappear as if invisible, it's dark green skin aiding it in avoiding detection. Much like the color would aid Sfc. Neda to precisely strike her numerous enemies throughout the years without being detected, disappearing under the cover of her cloak, as if invisible almost three hundred years after the homeworld was evacuated during the War...

Strangely, the closest translation any VI knew would forever be "Viper"...


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Up Close and Personal**

* * *

**5th July, 2179**  
**MFV (Migrant Fleet Vessel) Iktomi, Migrant Fleet, in orbit of Treyarmus, Cacus system, Hades Gamma cluster**

"Welcome to your basic training, Marines! In the next three weeks, you will learn everything a Quarian needs to become a Migrant Fleet Marine. Now, don't be surprised - here, we do things two ways - the wrong way and MY WAY! The first AND last words out of your mouths will ALWAYS be SIR! UNDERSTOOD? And if ANY of you have the balls, some of you worthless idiots MIGHT even make it past specialization and being a dumb grunt on the battlefield. But looking at you sorry lot, I don't think we'll see many of those around here. The next three weeks WILL be BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS! We do not want uncle Gerrel to think this is a holiday camp, do we?! DO YOU MAGGOTS UNDERSTAND?"

"Sir, yes sir!" the chorus answered.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU, MAGGOTS!"

"SIR YES SIR!" came a much stronger answer.

The drill instructor stopped pacing in front of Sar...

"Sound off, recruit!"

"Sir, Recruit Sar'Neda vas Neema nar Iktomi, Sir!"

She could see him towering over her in his camouflage envirosuit, no doubt created for especially these occassions...

"I'M SORRY, WHAT I MEAN WAS 'SOUND OFF LIKE YOU GOT A PAIR'!"

Sar's eyes slid down from the DI's faceplate on his armored breastplate, where his name and rank stood proudly: Sgt. Juti'Nara...

"Now, if you'll be so nice to show us how to run the obstacle course I've prepared?!"

Sar almost sighed, reminding herself at the last moment it would probably leave her in a LOT of trouble on her first day of basic - he indeed wasn't kidding. The obstacle course, quickly set up in Iktomi's cargo bay looked... _monstrous_ at best.

"Sir, Yes Sir!"

"Up and over!" What? A wall? Keelah, how was she supposed to get over that?

Pushing the thought aside, Sar rushed up to it and jumped... To find herself with a grip on the top of the obstacle.

"What are you waiting for! Move it! I SAID MOVE IT, RECRUIT!" Pull...

And she was on the other side!

"Knees and elbows! Hit the dirt!" Dirt... Wait, what! There was actual DIRT on the deck! Where did they get it? On second thought, she realized it's better to not ask. Leave the potential infection risk to the clean-up crew... _without_ becoming a member of it.

Suddenly, a kinetic barrier lit up to the left... "Head down, recruit!" - hey, _not_ fair! Who said anything about live-fire on her first day? Now the motivation to traverse the dirt quickly was even bigger.

Ancestors, please let those be concussives!

"Up the rope! Transfer ropes topside!" Did the instructor really mean to swap ropes midair? Oh... "Bosh'tet!" - deck, closing at a rapid speed... Ow!

"Repeat obstacle! Double time!" Did he notice the insult? No time to think... Swap ropes, take two ahead.

Sar climbed the first, motioned into a swing... And let go of the first rope. "_Aah..._"...hah! There she was, on the other rope, barely caught.

"Climb up the rope! MOVE IT! GO, GO, GO!" The thought crossed her mind about what will she do up there. Then it struck her. There was a rope slide at the top. Across the entire cargo bay. _Of course_. It couldn't be easy, could it?

"Ancestors protect me..." , she quickly prayed, the thought barely a whisper...

"Wheeee..."

That wall was suddenly closing in at what felt a terminal velocity... "Argh!"

"AND NOW YOU SEE WHY YOU NEED TO WORK ON THOSE LANDINGS! MOVE ON, RECRUIT!"

Did that bosh'tet of a drill instructor NEVER shut up?

"Through the tyres!" Oh, classic. These looked like heavy-duty M29 Grizzly tyres. Couldn't be anything civilian with their vehicles being mass-effect based for the past couple hundred years. Quarian Marines used this technique since far earlier than their human counterparts. By the time Rannoch had it's first orbital station, they _still_ struggled to explore the entirety of their planet. And a hundred years later, as humanity finally managed to explore their homeworld, quarians lost theirs...

"Vault over and double time it back here, recruit!"

Was it really almost over? Well, time to get over the last set of obstacles. Just vault over two waist-high walls... Done. Time to fall back in line.

"Do you call that DOUBLE TIME, recruit? On the ground and give me twenty!"

Oh. So the drill instructor IS a bosh'tet. Why, by the Homeworld, did he have to take push-ups of all alien drill practices into liking? It's not like Quarians could even do them with the difference between their and human legs. Not without spending the next day moaning about pain, anyway. Which was probably the point.

This was going to be one of those days...

* * *

**12th July, 2179**  
**MFV Iktomi, Migrant Fleet, approaching Hades Gamma Mass Relay**

"Well, as much as I can't believe it, maggots, you've made it thus far! Now, it's time for you to fail horribly with close quarters weapons! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"SIR, YES SIR!"

"WELL WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? DOUBLE TIME IT TO THE ARMORY FOR YOUR WEAPONS, RECRUITS!"

So, that was the first week, right? That had to be the hard part? There was one bonus, regardless of whether or not the first week was the worst: She'd get to fire a weapon at last. And that was enough to make it worth it.

Take a left, up the elevator a deck, corridor on the right... or was it left? ... third door on the left. Yes. There it was. The ship's armory. And a _lot_ of guns.

"Don't touch anything. Shotguns are to the _left_. Don't even look right. Nothin' for you to see there."

Surely enough, there were half a dozen Batarian-made Executioner shotguns. And next to them... Old M6 Warrior assault rifles, with their sleek lines calling out to use them. But to the right of the armory...

Two Marines were picking out their weapons, seemingly undisturbed by the guard's eye. Their choice was much less limited - and much more modern, with firearms made by the Asari and Salarians, as well as...

An honest-to-ancestors _sniper rifle_.

"I _want_ one..." Wait, did that come out loud? Keelah, I should really learn to keep my mouth shut. Hopefully nobody noticed.

But the man in red envirosuit did. "So you'd like to become a sniper, recruit? Heh. Guess everybody has dreams. You do well in your training, you might become one."

"Sergeant, with all due respect, we're _not_ supposed to talk to the recruits."

"And I know that. _Corporal_. Admiral was pretty clear on it. Grab our kit, get to the shuttle. Don't worry, we're not getting into any trouble." Then he turned to Sar: "Better grab your weapon and report back to your drill instructor. Nara can be severe."

Following his suggestion, she picked up the first Executioner she could lay her hands on and ran out of the armory with her fellow (and picky) recruits.

On the way back to the holo-range, Sar reflected on the two Marines' conversation. Their orders came directly from one of the five admirals, they mentioned a shuttle, and had an unlimited choice of firearms that were considered top-of-the-line in the fleet's marine corps. No Migrant Fleet Marine had any official business outside the fleet, and they wouldn't need a wide choice of firearms should their mission occur within. That left only one option: They were the first SF she ever met.

"That took you long enough, maggots! Were you manufacturing the weapons? Fall in line!"

The DI started pacing...

"First things first. Shotguns have a lot of recoil, so you WILL brace, recruits! I won't be picking you up like your momma when you first fell on the deck plating! Next is, these things are made for fighting up close and personal. None of that sniper bullshit most of you want!..."

"_Bosh'tet_..." Sar jumped at her own words, uttered under breath.

"...They fire buckshot. For all the dumb maggots among you, that means the round fragments mid-flight to deliver a spread of smaller rounds. But make no mistake! This enhances shield-piercing AND wounding capabilities up close! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

This time, the recruits knew how to answer - "SIR, YES SIR!"

"WELL GET IN LINE, WE'RE GOING TO SHOOT SOME HOLOS!"

The neat line of recruits has dispersed towards the three shooting lanes, replacing the freshly-disposed obstacle course, with Sar finding herself as the first for lane two. If she had any appreciation for the Fleet, it was thanks to this usage of space. Once something wasn't necessary anymore, it was simply removed - and in some cases stored away for later use, or in majority, recycled.

**Five minutes later**

It didn't take long - only after a few minutes, Sar knew shotguns are a piece of _junk_. It didn't matter how well you were aiming, the Executioner was simply Batarian in design - with huge spread and huge recoil.

The Drill Instructor, pacing as he was, didn't help it - only made her nervous. As she pressed the trigger again, only to see the Batarian holo still laughing at her, he stopped and closed in.

_Ancestors, why me_, she thought.

"Looks like we're got ourselves another maggot that won't pass her basic! What will you do when it's _not_ a holo, recruit? _Scowl_ at them!?"

Just... survive... this. Don't loose your temper...

"You WILL, recruit, be able to take that target down in a single shot by the end of the day, I guarantee you!"

**18th July 2179**  
**MFV (Migrant Fleet Vessel) Iktomi, Migrant Fleet, approaching Benning, Euler system, Arcturus stream cluster**

"Welcome back to the range, maggots! Today, you will learn to fire and maintain the standart issue sidearm. Everyone pick one up from the table! Hurry up, maggots! Pick a firing line!"

Sar picked up the brand new - these pistols would probably remain theirs if they passed basic - Edge pistol from the table, and hurried to (by now her) firing line number three, complimental Batarian holo from last week included.

There were several obvious differences - first, the shotgun felt like a battering ram. The pistol, on the other hand, fit her hands _perfectly_, was much lighter, and even without a spread, felt _much_ more useful in close quarters.

She aimed right on the Batarian's head and awaited permission to open fire...

... the instructor paused his usual pacing at her firing lane, and mocked. "So, recruit, do you think you can _hit_ the holo with this? Weapons green."

Suddenly _very_ angry, she pulled the trigger.

"Ancestors... Recruit, can you explain this?"

The holo-target has changed. Now, there was a neat hole right in the middle of the four eyes.

"I... Sir, I can not, Sir!"

"Doesn't matter. That's a textbook headshot. Have you ever fired a sidearm before?"

"Sir, no Sir!"

"Recruit, you are to report to CQB mock-up immediately. Pistol only. Let's see if you can keep this precision up under pressure."

"Sir, Yes Sir!"

* * *

The CQB mock-up. There was a lot of wood involved in building these structures. Which also meant dummy ammunition in weapons. As soon as Sar stepped in the hangar bay #2, temporarily housing the sight, the rangemaster waved her down.

"Alright, recruit. The Sergeant told me you've shown something special. Good job. He's a tough bosh'tet to impress. Let me explain the whole thing. You climb up that ladder...", he pointed to one corner, "...and then you fastrope on the balcony. Clear the first room quickly and effectively. When you're done, go down the stairs...", he lit up holographic representation of the mock-up on his Omni-Tool... "and clear two more rooms. One of them is a concussive ordnance-aided breach..." - he lifted two grenades off his belt - "... with these things. Not a concussive shot, but you're not yet in any specialized course, leave alone Rifleman - you wouldn't know how to use a concussive round..." - the holo of the course changed on his Omni-Tool - "...and this is the end of the course. Get back to the beginning, actually."

The question was hanging in the air, only needing to be voiced, as Sar did just so - "How do I use the... grenades?"

"Pull the pin, throw the damn thing. In the field, you'd actually be using low-grade arc grenades. A good EMP blast temporarily takes down most enemy tech we've encountered so far, and if you modify it, these bad boys blind, deafen and disorient anyone caught in the blast. Nothing permanent, don't worry."

"Low grade?"

"High grade Arc-nade's..." - he paused - "...that's how most Marines call them, by the way - anyway, high-grade variants are lethal. You'll be using dummies today, so don't worry. We don't want an actual Arc-nade to mess up the holotargets. You can start any moment. Just wave down the tech before you do. Good luck recruit."

As Sar closed distance to the tech, sitting behind a desk with a pair of holos, looked up from his work.

"Ok, recruit. I've been told to set the basic course. I'm not sure if you're lucky, recruits don't usually do this."

"It's an order. Refusing is _way_ above my pay grade. I've been told to report here before I start the course? Sir."

"Picking up Marine manners already, are you? Fine, recruit. It's a standart barricade scenario. Two floors, three rooms, one balcony in total. Intel says there's four hostiles, no hostages. Assigned equipment is one pistol...", he paused in surprise - "... one arc-nade? Moving up in the world... Omni-blade _if_ user possesses... Oh, it's also a no-shield simulation. Grab that shield harness. If your shields go down, you've a breach and a failure on your hands. They're the weakest thing we've got. Just enough to detect a hit, not enough to protect againist one."

The shield harness was of simple design - small generator unit in the back, primitive two hundred years old non-form-hugging shield emitters all around the body. As such, it was still possible to stick a hand outside of the shielding - an imperfection long-since fixed on modern combat shielding equipment.

There was another, _slightly_ trickier part of equipment, however - a bandolier for medi-gel and omni-gel packets, should the suit's dispensers and supply not suffice, which also contained a few grenade pouches, as well as a thin layer of ballistic cloth, covering the torso, not unlike old human ballistic vests.

When she was done, Sar opened one of the grenade pouches and put an Arc grenade inside, then set out to climb the ladder. When she was half way to it, she could hear the technician shout her a wish for good luck.

Finally up the ladder, Sar walked to the rope...

... and gave the signal to the technician, simultaneously grabbing the rope and sliding down.

And then, _everything_ vanished. With no thoughts or feelings other than the job at hand, she was, for the first time in her life, free of all concerns.

The first target - another holographic representation of Batarian slavers - suddenly appeared in the window separating the balcony from the inside of the building. It never managed to "shoot" - it was _riddled_ with bulletholes.

Target two - another Batarian - appeared from the staircase, it's holographic representation swiftly making for the nearest table. Sar's shots disabled the simulated shields - but failed to kill the enemy. At that moment, the overhead speakers fired up.

"Lesson in momentum - I'd be _fast_ if I were you."

After a moment of confusion, she realized - reinforcements were probably coming. It was no longer a nice and quiet simulation. Now it was a quick and dirty simulation.

And just then, a plan was born - she was still on the balcony - which was built around the main building, whose wall was a semicircle. Sar dove below the window and began to move right, trying to flank the enemy.

At the edge of the window, she aimed over her cover - and found her opponent _completely_ open to fire. An excellent flank shot.

Then, her helmet comm unit fired up - to her surprise: "Listen up. Let's step it up. You're on comms with HQ now, and they want a report. Callsign entry team."

To add to surprise - the voice ordering her was neither the rangemaster's, nor the technicians - but it still conveyed so much authority that she never thought to question the order.

"This is Entry team to Command. The top floor is now clear with two dead enemies, but the bottom floor has not yet been cleared." - then, remembering proper radio discipline, taught for the past week, she added - "Over."

"Command. Understood, proceed downstairs. Out."

The voice felt familiar - but Sar could not place it.

Now at the top of the stairs, she checked her Edge's thermal status - rather pointlessly, as the clip already cooled down from the last shot - and set down at a careful, but swift pace.

And then it came - a deafening explosion from right under her feet. And a blast that took out all of the shield harness' capacitors power, and ultimately, her shields.

Also, somebody forgot to turn off the speakers.

"Oh, _yes_. This _never_ gets old, right Kal?"

"No, it doesn't. Shut off the speakers and _stop laughing_, Myr. I didn't tell you to do something that messes up the poor girl's career."

Then, the speakers shut off and the latter voice spoke to her through her helmet comms: "Sorry. Had to get your attention, and the tech went... _creative_. Finish the course and we'll chalk it up to a harness malfunction, but I want you to _listen_ while you clear the course."

Sar, thrown to the base of the stairs by the blast, stood up and scanned her surroundings - no hostiles in sight, and she was in one of the two ground floor rooms. There were also simulated scorch marks on the staircase behind her, probably from a tech mine, she though - thankfully holographic.

As she reached the doorway, the mysterious voice continued: "I keep telling the admiralty we need more snipers for our... more _sensitive_ operations. Mostly, they shut me down. Folks who want to be snipers, like you, are few and far between. And yes, I remember your reaction about that rifle in the armory." - that told Sar this man knows her - to some extent.

She drew the arc grenade from a pouch, and stacked up on the doorway...

"Long story short, they told me to find my own sniper if I want one. You're fresh in the business, but you got _here_, which means you have something. I'm giving you a chance. You dealt with the first two nicely, and seeing that Myr here thought it worth my while to watch you, you're a good shooter."

... she opened the door, and threw the grenade inside...

... and breached the room.

Both of the remaining Batarians were completely unshielded and stunned. Sar shot one in the back of his head...

And, as if in slow motion, turned on the second - who recovered and now was _charging_ her.

Panicked, she repeatedly pressed the trigger, until the holo fell to the ground, no longer a threat.

"I knew you'd be worth the time. Now why don't you meet me at the technician's booth?"

* * *

**Author's Note:  
**

_So, that's the first chapter. I don't really know how good it is, exactly, so feel free to let me know! Also, I'm not sure when (or if, depending on how much you folks like it) I'll update again._

_And as a last thing - I'll dare to put the disclaimer down here:_

**I DO NOT OWN THE SANDBOX. MASS EFFECT IS A PROPERTY OF BIOWARE/ELECTRONIC ARTS. I JUST BORROW THE SHINY STUFF.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Chance**

* * *

**18th July 2179**  
**MFV Iktomi, Migrant Fleet, en route to Yukawa, Euler system, Arcturus stream cluster**

"I still fail to see where this came from. How am I different from all the other recruits, sir?"

Sar looked at her helmet clock nervously - it has been an hour since her rather eventfull run of the mock-up. Now, thanks to this man - Sergeant Reegar - she was being offered a special chance.

"Fine, recruit. Let me spell it out again. I haven't seen a recruit who wished to handle long-range business in the past thirty classes. You seem to wish so, right?"

"Well, y-yes, sir, but..." she stammered out, abruptly cut off by Sgt. Reegar.

"There are no 'but's, recruit. I can't be exact with the numbers, but take my word for it: We're low on qualified snipers who are also able to conduct... special... missions outside the Fleet, for the Fleet. So what I'm offering here is simple." he paused, taking a breath.

"If you get through your basic, I'll make sure your name gets on the advanced training list. That's the next step. You turn out the whole way, we get a qualified sniper. That's when the Fleet won't give you a choice. You fail half-way through, it depends on how qualified you'd be, exactly. Most likely, it'll give you a choice - Special Forces, or grunt work. You don't get far enough, you hit another no-choice scenario, and it's to grunt work with you. Does that sound good enough?"

That was the whole offer. Get advanced, have her chance. She already had most of her Basic complete - just few more days of drill and graduation from the course. Without being advanced - a nigh impossible feat without being noticed - that was it. The entire combat training, most of which was on-ship combat. The only course after being in the Fleet's laws, still technically governed by martial law as it was.

Sar had heard of the Special Forces before. Revered as both heroes who would bring the fleet back to the homeworld and crazies fighting a lost cause, they were rumored to be the actual part of the Marines to conduct all the important missions. Thankfully, for most they were heroes. Sar just hoped her parents were among these...

"You have a deal, sir. If I qualify, I'm yours."

* * *

**23rd July 2179**  
**MFV Iktomi, Migrant Fleet, approaching Arcturus Mass Relay, Arcturus system, Arcturus stream cluster**

Graduation day.

The one day every Marine looks forward to with anticipation. The day they would learn whether or not they passed their basic.

Passing would mean obtaining further orders - Marines didn't always serve on their adult ship. Most of the time, not even their birth-ship was their assignment. It also meant a promotion to Private and obtaining their own firearms at last.

On the contrary, failing their basic meant being quietly shipped back to their adult ship - and being forced to continue living as a civilian. For Sar, this would mean taking up engineering, navigation, or ship-borne armaments, as her adult ship was the Neema - the flagship of the Heavy Fleet.

Those who passed would also receive their first orders and assignments - and most of the recruits hoped for their adult ships to be their assignments.

Standing in the waiting room with half a dozen of her peers, Sar sighed. It wasn't even a week since she agreed with something she wasn't sure could be done. And the only way to see was walk through the door at the end of the room.

"Recruits!" - seven heads looked at the source - "As I call your names, step in." Of course. Sgt. Nara's assistant for today - conveniently picked from the Sergeant's squad.

"Hilo'Valon vas Tesleya."

The man sitting opposite of Sar stood up and went through the door. The doors closed, and muffled voices could be heard. Finally, he came out, saluted the rest, and left.

"Sar'Neda vas Neema."

Her heart raced out. This was _it_. The moment of truth. As she stood up and went through the door, she could almost feel the others looking at her.

Then the doors closed behind her.

There were _two_ men. Her drill instructor, Juti'Nara, and another - the man from the close quarters mock-up, both standing in parade rest. Sar saluted them, and remained at attention.

"Sar'Neda vas Neema nar Iktomi. By the powers granted to me by the Admiralty Board, I hereby declare you a Migrant Fleet Marine. Congratulations. This here..." he pointed at the other man - in a familiar envirosuit - "... is Corporal Myr'Vael vas Rayya. Speak to him regarding your orders."

This wasn't standart protocol - the rest of the recruits would have obtained their orders on once-read OSDs, auto-erased upon reading their content. Such special treatment should have set off the red warning lights in Sar's head - and it did.

"Sir. I was told the orders would be given on an OSD, sir?" she asked, carefully.

The Sergeant's frustration was obvious. He was not happy with this change either.

"Well, the plan's changed, Private. You see, Corporal here invoked code yellow."

"Code yellow, sir?" - this was highly unfamiliar, as codenames for situations usually weren't used unless the matter at hand was very serious. Did she wrong the fleet somehow?

"He is to take full responsibility for you upon you leaving this room. Good luck Private. Keelah se'lai."

"Keelah se'lai, sir."

As both Sar and the mysterious Quarian operative left for the waiting room, once again, five faces gazed upon her. They also knew something was off. Finally, they were both out of the waiting room, and Sar's helmet radio cracked with static, and then a familiar voice.

"Sorry for the little show back there. You remember me, don't you? I'm supposed to bring you to the Rayya. Sarn't Reegar didn't manage to bounce you up on his own. Like it or not, you're meeting with the Admiralty Board today."

After a brief flashback, it came back to her. The mock-up technician's name was Myr, and he was on good terms with Reegar. Most likely one of his direct subordinates...

"I... think I understand. But I need to visit the armory and get my weapons first."

"No such thing. Not yet, anyway. If we're succeeding, you're only getting your pistol, anyway. The next step for you is the good ol' M6 and the Adas Anti-Synth. Just trust the Sergeant, he knows more about the Marines than the two of us combined. We've a shuttle waiting in bay two."

* * *

**23rd July 2179, 1 hour later**  
**MFV Rayya, Migrant Fleet, Skepsis system, Sigurd's Cradle**

Finally, they were on-board the Rayya - delayed by the mass relay jump - which the rear elements of the fleet still haven't completed.

And now, to add even _more_ delay, the airlock guard on their assigned shuttle bay wouldn't let them through - insisting the door required repairs. Now, Sar just watched as he and Myr'Vael were shouting at each other.

"I don't care what sort of business you have onboard. For the thirtieth time, the airlock is _stuck_. You need to wait for maintenance."

"Well, I don't care either. Get us out of the airlock. We're late enough as it is! Is the panel accessible from this side?"

"Sir, you do not have permission to manipulate the door. Remain still or I _will_ call another guard."

"So if I keep moving, you'll call backup?" Myr sighed, and added, under breath: "And here I thought you grunts can tell apart when somebody's above your paygrade."

As he started pacing, Sar's comm unit chimed to signal incoming transmission: "As he wants. Listen. I can see the access panel to the left of the exit. Let me get his attention, do a _quick_ scan, see what it is. Just don't tell that bosh'tet who I am, and who you're about to become. Just do it."

"Hey, you _bosh'tet_! I need..." and then silence, as she shut her helmet's sound receptors. It was time to get to work.

The panel went off nicely - and behind it... the mother of all messes. No wonder it was stuck. Not unlike a pyrotechnician, she started tracing the cables - where did they go? When she found three loose cables - but only one port to plug them in - she fired up her omni-tool to scan the algorithm.

There were no errors in the program running the airlock door - but there was a reference to a cable that not only wasn't plugged in - it was missing _completely_, most likely replaced by one of the three cables present. Such was the price of a scavengers life. Not even your original starships would be in a good shape after three hundred years of drifting through space with only EVA to show for repairs. The Rayya was, unfortunately, no exception.

And so the fun of tracking where the cables go, and where they come from gained a new meaning. Compare their origins with the program, rewrite the cable reference, if possible, and do a hard reset on the airlock.

The red cable to the left led to the override. This would open both doors, most likely exposing the insides of the Rayya to vacuum - the shuttle bay gate was long past it's prime, much like the airlock itself. And while all Quarian suits had air supply, unless extending it by external oxygen tanks, the supply would barely last a few minutes. Override was _not_ a real option...

The blue, center cable, showed more promise at the first glance. However, closer inspection revealed this is an in-atmosphere mode for the airlock - no such thing as an atmosphere in the middle of space. It was much more of an option than overriding the airlock, even if not the thing she was looking for...

A startling chime from her comms unit - and her first true commanding officer ever spoke to her again: "Private, might want to hurry. I'm running out of strong words here."

The last cable - green - traced back to the section which indicated regular airlock function on a starship - open, close, equalize pressure, open the other door. With a victorious grin, she plugged the green cable in the port, and went on to rewriting the cable reference.

This was a trivial, minute-long matter. Find the correct section of the code, locate the comment bracket behind this code, rewrite one word - that couldn't even change anything about it.

What was not-so-trivial about it, was the fact the program was set in the microcomputer hard - no way to change it inside the memory itself... "_Bosh'tet!_" It just wouldn't go. Sar initiated a copy of the program to her tool...

"He's getting bored of this. I hope you're about to finish..."

"Almost there, sir. Almost restarting the whole thing..."

The copy was done. Now to rewrite the offending reference and overwrite the program on the airlock frame.

_/Omni-Writer v1.05..._  
_/Search query in algorithm... comment/'purple wire'..._  
_/Search complete..._  
_/Rewrite initialized..._

Just a few keystrokes, and... there. Rewritten.

_/Save in progress..._  
_/Program saved..._

And to copy it back over, with no changes to the code itself... Done. Sar turned her helmet speakers back on.

"...is she doing there, I demand it stop now!" - she hit the restart button.

"There, you bosh'tet! I fixed it for you, open the door now."

As the door opened, both Sar and her leader slipped through. The Marine on guard duty looked geniuinely surprised, but he raised his weapon - "Stop right there! Put your hands on the wall where I can see them!"

Just as they started backing up towards the wall, another familiar voice called out to the corridor: "_Stand down_, Private! That won't be necessary. These two are on an assignment way above your paygrade. Lower your weapon!"

The Marine visibly relaxed, lowering his weapon into high ready, rather than aiming straight at Sar - who absolutely disliked the idea of getting shot by a friendly on her first day.

"Hey, nice timing, Boss."

Now the Marine just let his weapon down to his waist, looking back and forth from Myr to Reegar.

"I do my best, Myr. Where have you been so long? It's been an hour since the relay jump. Tell me it wasn't the airlock again."

"Guilty as charged. How about you get me out of this trouble, and we can talk on the way?"

Reegar sighed, shook his head, and turned to the guard: "Listen, Private. I'm Sgt. Kal'Reegar, and this is my squad. You will not question why we're separated, but for Ancestor's sake, you're going to forget this whole thing. They were supposed to meet the Board a long time ago, and the Admirals are starting to lose their patience. Since none of us want to piss the bosses off, how about we all go our separate ways now?"

"Y-yes sir." the guard stammered out. "You two are free to go. I hereby relieve you into Sgt. Reegar's custody."

"He's my _squad leader_, you _bosh'tet_...", scoffed Myr as they left.

* * *

Five minutes later.

The Rayya - largest of the liveships. The political center of the fleet. The official meeting place of the Admiralty Board. And there Sar was - about to meet the five highest ranking in the fleet. Accompanying the finest warriors the Fleet had to offer, no less.

The finest warriors who appeared to be discussing her future as if talking about weather. Thankfully whispering.

"Kal, do you really think they will jump at it? You know the rules. Drill instructors have a say. Nara won't let her that far through. Not with those scores, that idiotic bosh'tet."

"Tell me that Myr. I know the rules, but I promised something. She has raw potential. She can make a difference out there, actually fighting. The best the girl can do here is patrol the command deck. Besides, they still owe us for that last pirate attack. You know. The one that never happened?"

They turned another corner - and stood in a corridor, at the other end of which was another airlock - the garden plazza airlock, closest to the marvel of an actual garden - a luxury by the Fleet's standarts, not seen anywhere else. And standing in the corridor, a single Quarian, armed to the teeth with a machine gun.

Her two escorts obviously both knew the Marine - as Myr visibly changed his posture.

"Fresh recruits aren't the only topic here, are they. Nobody needs an entire team to discuss that topic," he stated.

Reegar looked from one Quarian to another - and chuckled.

"Observant as ever. No. There's a thing of... interest to Admiral Zorah. Golo's here to get the briefing. Recruitment is the first order of the meeting, though. As usual, need-to-know basis, only relevant parties-" explained the Sergeant, cut off abruptly by Myr: "Meaning Zorah and Gerrel."

"Exactly those two. They're the talk-to about recruitment, anyway."

At last, the machinegunner joined the conversation: "Sergeant. Myr. Keelah se'lai. Is this the new recruit? I heard the Marine comes straight from Nara's latest class. Is that the recruit to interest you so back in that armory, Sergeant?"

Before answering, a loud sigh came out of Reegar's voice modulator.

"Yes, that would be her, Corporal. I told you it wouldn't hurt us - we might even get a sniper. Long memory, by the way," he retorted evenly, motioning towards the plazza.

* * *

**23rd July 2179**  
**Garden plazza, MFV Rayya, Migrant Fleet, Skepsis system, Sigurd's Cradle**

Plants. Plants _everywhere_. The plazza reminded Sar of the pictures of Rannoch - shown to every child during their education - more than a ship. Sadly, it was just a marvel of modern hydroponics.

The room was a large rectangle,with the deck lowered in the middle - this formed the trench from which the Admirals' stage would rise, surrounded by seats for the crowds.

The group turned to the left, walking past the public meeting area, instead venturing towards the back of the room - and another door, this one with two armed guards.

As they closed in, both guards sprung to attention, opening the door. They were expected then. As the door slid open, two voices became audible, arguing in the background...

"...and I know that Rael. You need to speak to Xen about an entire research ship."

"Wait, Han. Somebody's coming."

Carefully, two Quarians emerged from a blind corner of the room - Admirals Zorah and Gerrel - both hovering their hands mere centimeters from their holsters. Relaxing, they both let their hands fall away from the holsters.

"Sergeant Kal'Reegar. I'm glad you are here. We were just talking about your newest assignment. I believe you are ready to receive your briefing once we resolve the matter you consider worthy of prioritizing?" said the voice, recognizable as 'Rael'.

"Yes, Admiral. Let me get to the point..." - Reegar turned around to check that the doors have closed - "I believe you remember my requests for qualified infantrymen for my team?"

"Yes. And I'm sorry, there are simply no personnel available with your requested qualification. But surely, there must be a reason why you brought another person to this meeting?" said the Admiral carefully.

"Sir, with all due respect, your searches have been filtered to _existing_ special forces personnel. By pure luck, I have recently encountered a person that could potentially fulfill the requirements. Private, present yourself."

That took Sar by surprise. As much as she came to terms with meeting the Board, she still expected all the talking be done for her. Nevertheless, weeks of hard drill and improvisation kicked in, as she stood to attention: "Private Sar'Neda vas Neema nar Iktomi, reporting for duty, Admiral!"

That got the other admiral's full attention, as he nodded in approval to Reegar: "Admiral Han'Gerrel vas Neema. It's a pleasure to see one of my crew."

"Admiral Rael'Zorah vas Rayya. At ease, Private." - Admiral Zorah then motioned towards some folding chairs, set up in a corner... - "Reegar, is this why you've manipulated the recruit OSD shipment? And please, don't act surprised."

The Sergeant stopped dead in his tracks, half reaching for one of the chairs...

"Yes, sir. You know the oath. Anything for the good of the fleet-"

"And you think this is for the better?"

"Yes, sir. Private here has potential. And you surely know that rules should sometimes be broken, sir."

It was strange - there they were, discussing her future... and she was not a part of the conversation.

"Very courageous of you to bring up the Yaska, Reegar. We will discuss this with Admiral Gerrel. Recruit, you are dismissed. Your orders will be relayed to your omni-tool within a few minutes."

* * *

It was fifteen minutes already. A little while ago, Sgt. Reegar's squad walked out of the office, heads buried in their omni-tools and obviously in the middle of a heated conversation through their helmet comms. But Sar's orders have not yet been relayed. And so she waited in the garden plazza - at least the scenery would be nice. For the past five minutes, she'd just watch one particularly interesting breed of plant - probably long name-less, as it originated on the Homeworld - that the dextro counterpart to the Earth's viper would use as a safe haven from the outside world.

Suddenly, a loud beep broke her contemplation - a new message has arrived. And it looked official:

_/_

_ORDER PACKET #508916_  
_ASSIGNED PERSONNEL: Private Sar'Neda vas Neema_  
_ASSIGNED UNIT: 1st squad, Alpha Company_  
_ASSIGNED OPERATIONS: Peacekeeper operations_  
_ASSIGNED SHIP: MFV Iktomi_  
_REPORT TO: Sergeant Juti'Nara vas Iktomi_

_/_

"Oh, not that bosh'tet again..."

Back to the Iktomi then.

Onwards to peacekeeping.

* * *

**30th July 2179**  
**Crew deck, MFV Iktomi, Migrant Fleet**

"Yes, I am aware of this being a public area, sir. No, you are not allowed to enter the med bay at this point. I am sorry, sir. Captain's orders..."

Just another day at the office, figuratively speaking. If this was supposed to be the rest of her life, Sar contemplated leaving the Marines to take up ship-borne duties on the Neema instead. Being assigned to guard the least important part of the ship certainly did not help, either. While the only other on-ship recruit from her class handled security in Engineering, she got the Crew Deck - a hard rotation of patrols in an always-live location.

"...it is my right as crew of this ship to enter the medbay, Marine, and I..." - one nod to the two other Marines who just arrived to the deck, responding to a request for backup she'd sent, and the man seeking entrance to the med bay wasn't her problem anymore.

She eased her stance, when one of the Marines shouted her way: "Hey, are you Sar'Neda? The Sergeant said you are to report to the Rayya. Mentioned a 'Sergeant Reegar'."

Sar gave him a puzzled look before turning to the elevator, shouting over her shoulder: "Tango Mike. Someone take my post, I'm off."

Reegar - on the Rayya. She let her weapon drop on the harness and brought up her Omni-Tool. This was going to be one hell of a shuttle ride.

* * *

**A/N:**

I don't know if anyone thought I'm dead and was interested. But hey, here it is. Another chapter. May I, _please _get some reviews, or any other indication that there are people who do or do not like this?

Oh, and I've decided to bring the Prologue up to the Chapter 1/2 standart, so that's also coming up.

And since some of you might wonder - Tango Mike stands for "Thanks Much". I figured that a week in active service is enough to catch up with some mannerisms.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Cloak and Rifle**

* * *

**30th July 2179**  
**Shuttle bay #3, MFV Rayya, Migrant Fleet**

"Docking procedures complete. I'm opening the doors, have a good one, Private," came from the cockpit.

The next thing, a mechanical _whoosh_ came from the shuttle doors - indicating a loss of internal pressure. At the same time, warning light lit up inside Sar's helmet, accompanied by a verbal warning from the suit's mainframe: "Warning. Entering vacuum. Internal oxygen supply level 100%."

So that meant this bay was completely compromised - no kinetic barriers or airtight bay gates were holding the oxygen in. In other words, the standart procedure was to vacate the bay as soon as possible. Sar checked her shotgun in the back holster was properly secured, and left the shuttle, making for the airlock.

Once inside the airlock, she immeditely pressed the button to cycle and alarm the guard.

"Exiting vacuum. Replenishing internal oxygen supply." - the back of her helmet gave a silent _swoosh_, as the action indicated by the mainframe began.

A camera in the upper left corner of the airlock came to life - as well as a speaker next to it: "State your identity and your business aboard the Rayya."

"Private Sar'Neda, Alpha Company, Marines. As for my assignment here..." - Sar lit up her omni-tool - "...as far as I'm aware, Board business is always confidential. Here is your proof..." she said as she sent the packet to the guard's holoscreen.

"Affirmative, Private. You are authorized to enter the ship. Have a good one." came the answer after a brief silence from the speaker.

* * *

Ten minutes later

Sar rounded the last corner to the Garden plazza - bumping into an unfamiliar figure in a brown enviro-suit in her haste. And with her, a child in a purple suit - barely old enough to have one of her own from the looks of it.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Didn't..." - it only took a moment to recognize the older woman - "...Admiral Raan! I'm sorry ma'am."

"It's alright, Marine. I believe you are the one summoned for the meeting? The rest of the Board is waiting for you."

"Yes, Ma'am, thank you ma'am."

Done with the encounter, Sar returned to her previous path - the corridor to the Plazza.

Entering the plazza, she realized that _someone_ with a red suit is blocking her path - "Sergeant Reegar."

Reegar nodded towards the auditorium in front of the dais - "Private Neda. The Admirals are currently busy. They're briefing the rest of my team at this moment. Guard duty treating you well?"

"S.S.D.D., sir. All the usual. People demanding access they don't have, disregarding the new requirements to pass airlock posts... It gets old fast.", Sar sighed as she sat down next to the Sergeant.

Reegar looked around and lowered his voice: "You do realize what this situation means? You're summoned, my team is being briefed sans their team leader. The Admirals have something-"

Then, he was cut off by a new participant to the short-lived conversation: "Kal, we're done. The Admirals want to see you both."

"Myr? Thanks. We're on our way."

* * *

The doors opened, revealing Admiral Zorah already waiting for them.

"Marines," he pointed at the two chairs in front of his desk.

"Admiral. Sergeant Reegar, Private Neda, as ordered."

As they seated, the Marine commander continued: "I have new orders for the both of you. Reegar, for the time being, you are charged with recruit training."

The Sergeant nodded in agreement.

Then, the Admiral turned his head to Sar: "Private Neda, I would like to congratulate you on your successes during your basic training. You are being transferred to the Neema for your advanced training. I also congratulate you on your promotion to Private First Class."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Marines, you are dismissed. Keelah se'lai." the Admiral concluded as he stood up from his chair. Following the lead of her mentor, the fresh-Pfc. Neda stood to attention and saluted, before silently exiting the office.

As soon as they left the office, Reegar lit up his omni-tool, breaking the silence: "Well, looks like we've our new orders. This packet says something about two fresh rifle trainees under my command. The first... some Hoodar from the Tonbay. And I don't think you've ever heard of a 'Pfc. Neda'? That's the second name," he concluded with a smile in his voice.

"I may have. What's the next step, Instructor?", she smiled behind her faceplate.

"Getting on board the Neema is a good start. Let's deal with issues when they come up from then on. The orders say there's a shuttle in bay three."

"You're not going to like that shuttle bay, sir..."

* * *

_Whoosh_

"Exiting vacuum. Replenishing internal oxygen supply.", Sar's suit mainframe informed as the shuttle doors closed.

"Just vacuum. Two weeks back, the bay lost gravity, too. Which brings us to one of the many advantages of an SF mod suit. Your EVA kit's always on."

A low hum came from the shuttle's engine, indicating a lift-off...

"And maintenance wasn't much faster on the draw than the week ago?"

"Can't blame the Techs. There are more pressing matters on a liveship."

* * *

**31st July 2179**  
**Shooting range, MFV Neema, Migrant Fleet**

Sar unslung her newly obtained M6 rifle from the holster and put it on one of the benches in the for a thorough check - this piece was fresh from the armory, and probably wasn't well maintained.

Just as she brought up the manual on her omni-tool, someone occupied the neighboring bench.

"Pfc. Neda?", her neighbor asked.

Hearing her rank and name caught Sar's attention - she gave the Marine next to her a glance: "Who's asking, Private?"

"Feda'Hoodar vas Tonbay. You, ma'am?"

"Sar'Neda vas Neema," she replied as the top cover of her M6 parted with the rest of the rifle with a loud _click_. "I'm glad you're finally here."

"I only got the orders yesterday. Not all of us get to train on our adult ships," the Marine retorted as his own rifle gave the same click.

"Funny you mention that. I was on the Iktomi when the orders came. I'm not the reason the Sergeant had to delay for entire twenty-four hours," the rifles both gave a silent _beep_, indicating the heat sink can be removed.

"Yes. Scuttlebutt says you arrived _with_ the Instructor," the Private unscrewed his rifle's mass effect core for inspection.

"How is that relevant-"

"Officer on deck!", came from the door guard.

The entire shooting range immediately left their current activities to stand to attention, as a Lieutenant entered the range, closely followed by no other than Sgt. Reegar himself.

Then, they both proceeded to walk towards the benches.

Reegar was the first to talk: "At ease, Marines. Private First Class Neda, step forward."

As Sar heeded the order, Reegar continued his monologue: "Marine, the Lieutenant here will observe your abilities for the duration of this course. Based on his observation, it will be decided if you are fit to enter sniper courses," he turned to the officer - "I believe we're done with the introductions, sir. Let us proceed with the course."

"By all means, Sergeant."

* * *

**11th August 2179**  
**Shooting range, MFV Neema, Migrant Fleet**

The Lieutenant was watching. Just as he was watching for the past ten days - Sar was under constant surveillance whenever in her firing lane - which meant the majority of the course.

And considering her near-perfect mark in the course so far, she knew she gave something to look at. Especially the past two days, where the holo-targets would pop up at random ranges, requiring her to compensate for bulletdrop without adjusting the zeroing.

Thankfully, even as old as it was in design, the M6 Warrior assault rifle was _still_ a mass accelerator weapon - and thus, barely any bulletdrop occured in standart assault rifle engagement ranges. Which was partially a reason her own M6 now sported a tactical scope - unlike her colleague in the lane to her left.

She was really being tested here - even _before_ the official graduation test tomorrow.

As the next target popped up, Sar estimated the range - no more than a dozen meters physically, but the holo-target adjusted itself to represent a much more distant shot - and shouted the range out: "Six hundred!"

She put about half a pound of pressure on the trigger - and watched the as the holographic representation of a Batarian hit the deck, unshielded. Way out of it's effective range, the M6 failed to deliver a killshot - but, thanks in no small part to her own marksmanship, hit the target.

Behind her, the Lieutenant let out a whistle of recognition.

The holo disappeared, only to reappear a moment later, slightly closer. _Estimate the range, press the trigger, repeat._

"Five hundred!", Sar shouted as she pressed the trigger again. This time, the round hit the target in the simulated head, and it dropped on the deck.

"Kill. Nice shot, Pfc." - came from the neighboring lane, as Sgt. Reegar, there to monitor Hoodar, watched another target to pop up.

Smiling under her visor, Sar continued to drop the targets at a steady rate, falling in rhythm.

_Estimate the range, press the trigger, repeat. Estimate the range, press the trigger..._

And finally, the shift rotation was sounded, indicating the end of today's training.

* * *

Sar made it as far as the mess hall on the crew deck - bound to be filled to the brim at this time of the ship's cycle - when a voice spoke up behind her.

"Pfc. Neda? A word, please." - it was her firing lane supervisor, the unnamed lieutenant.

"Lieutenant? Yes, sir."

The officer pointed to an empty nook in the corridor leading to the mess - hidden enough to discuss matters uninterrupted, not nearly out-of-sight for the matters to be confidential.

"Great work on the range. I dare to say to suggest you will pass with a high mark."

"Thank you sir. But that's obviously not why I'm here."

The Lieutenant took a look around before continuing, making sure nobody was listening in: "No. It's the speed at which you learned range estimations. Were your activities during your pilgrimage somehow connected to any mercenary groups?"

Sar chuckled, before she answered the now-confused officer: "No sir. It's just as my file says. I managed to broker a deal for raw material, enough for a couple hull patches. The Admiral accepted the gift, and took me in his crew."

"How did you learn such precise estimates so _fast_, then?", the lieutenant demanded.

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think you've ever seen the targeting reticle on my scope. There's a scale for range estimations. It roughly fits for most bipedal species both in and out of Citadel space. That helped a lot at the start of the course."

Now, it was her conversation partners turn to laugh: "That _devious_ bosh'tet Reegar. It was him who got you the scope. And he knows nobody will even mind. You're dismissed, Pfc."

"Yes, sir.", Sar quickly saluted and left for the mess.

* * *

**12th August 2179**  
**Crew deck, MFV Neema, Migrant Fleet**

In the quiet of the bunks, Sar was reassembling her rifle for the day's qualifications - then a voice startled her: "Come on, Rocket. We need to get to the range."

She turned around to face the source - her fellow trainee, Hoodar.

"Roger. I'll be ready in a bit. What's up with the nickname?"

"What? Oh, that. Scuttlebutt - kept my ear to the ground. The _things_ you learn about other Marines that way..."

"How about _asking_ next time?", she asked before turning back to her weapon on her bunk.

Hoodar closed the distance, now looking over her shoulder: "They say you passed Basic three weeks ago. Also that you were advanced in a mysterious fashion. And the icing on this cake is... a _sniper_?"

Sar screwed in the last the last bolt before answering: "Guilty as charged. And the nickname?"

"You rose the ranks faster than a shuttle breaking atmo. Like a _rocket_. Hence the nickname."

She picked up the M6 and pointed towards the door.

"The range awaits, oh master comedian."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later

"Marines! The time has come for you to show what have you learned in the past two weeks. Sergeant Reegar!"

Reegar looked to the Lieutenant: "Yes, sir."

"Explain the rules."

"Marines. There will be a total of fifty targets in series of ten at random ranges of up to five hundred meters. We'll start with stationary targets, then move on to moving targets. No more than two rounds per target. In order to qualify, you need to score sixty or greater. To qualify higher, you need a score of ninety or higher, or eighty or higher respectively. Any questions?"

"Sir, no Sir!", a chorus of two replied.

Reegar paused for a little bit, before turning to Sar: "Marine, your scope is not permitted for qualification. Your colleague will attempt qualification first. Please remove your attachment during this time."

"Yes, sir."

Sar made her way to the weapon bench, and set to removing her scope from the old Warrior rifle, trying to listen to the progress of Hoodar's qualification - the knowledge of it would mean she knew what was coming to her.

The repeated gun shots and words _hit_ and _miss_ were the only thing to hear.

Finally, she was done. Hoodar, however, was not.

"Hit." _Bang_. "Miss." _Bang_. "Hit." _Bang_. "Hit. Series complete."

The Lieutenant, still observing from afar, spoke up: "Qualification complete. Private First Class Neda, step forward."

She approached the officer: "Sir?"

"You are to be familiarized with the qualification. Series one, full silhouette targets, standing. Series two, full silhouette targets, stance crouch. Series three, full silhouette targets, stance prone. Series four, full sihouette moving targets, stance of your choice. Series five, full silhouette moving targets mixed with semi-obscured stationary targets."

"Yes, sir. Thank you sir." Sar then made her way to the firing lane, and set up her rifle.

Reegar, finally done with her fellow, recognized this by beginning the standart procedure: "Series one, stationary targets. Shooter stance, standing. Attention shooter! Begin series."

Everything around vanished from concentration, as she, with lethal speed and precision, began to literally _demolish_ the holographic targets.

"Series one, complete. Ten out of ten hits. Cool weapon."

Both Reegar and Sar then waited until the rifle's control light lit up, indicating being fully cooled.

At least, when it lit up, Reegar continued: "Series two, stationary targets. Shooter stance, crouch. Attention shooter! Begin series."

Sar adjusted her stance, before once again falling in concentration, with more holographic targets being neutralized one by one.

"Series two, complete. Ten out of ten hits. Cool weapon."

As last time, the M6 Warrior took a little while to remove all the excess heat from it's heatsink.

"Series three, stationary targets. Shooter stance, prone. Attention shooter! Begin series."

This time in the most stable stance available to an infantry man on the battlefield, Sar became a true _grim reaper_. None of the targets stood when she was done.

"Series three, complete. Ten out of ten hits. Cool weapon. Excellent work, Marine." Reegar's body language spoke proud.

When he continued the procedure for the fourth series of targets, his voice nevertheless showed signs of weariness of the protocol: "Series four, moving targets. Shooter stance of choice. Attention shooter! Begin series."

And the grim reaper of holographic ranges struck again. Except for that one really, really stubborn target that _didn't_ want to die.

"Hit. Next target." _Bang_. "Miss."

She quickly reacquired the target, checked her elevation, and fired again.

"Miss. Two rounds expended. Next target."

"Bosh'tet!"

She rapidly dropped the two remaining targets in the series, and looked towards Reegar.

"Series four, complete. Nine out of ten hits. Cool weapon."

Nothing of his body language or tone of voice suggested he noticed that one target, other than mentioning it in the score. He kept up a _perfect_ equal of a human's poker face.

Sar's weapon once again indicated it's fully cooled status before he announced the last series: "Series five, moving or partially obscured targets. Shooter stance of choice. Attention shooter! Begin series."

The final series brought tougher to hit targets - as promised. It was mostly made up of various holographic representations of Batarians, trying to take cover behind something - not very effectively. The rest of it was the same moving targets as series four - easy pickings with the right amount of lead. At last, all of the targets were neutralized.

"Series five, complete. Course complete, forty-nine out of fifty hits total."

Reegar then nodded at the Lieutenant, who continued: "Marines, you are to perform maintenance on your rifles under supervision."

* * *

Finally, the rifle clicked back together. Reegar, who was chosen as her supervisor, nodded in agreement - she had passed this test.

Their superior officer also caught up on this, and commanded: "Marines! At attention! The results are complete. Corporal Hoodar. Step forward!"

Sar tilted her head at her colleague to her right.

"You qualified at seventy-six percent, earning a Sharpshooter badge. Congratulations."

"Sir!" - Hoodar stepped back in line.

"Private First Class Neda. Step forward!"

This time, it was her turn to make a step, and learn her score.

"You qualified at ninety-eight percent, earning an _Expert_ badge. Congratulations, Marine. Outstanding work. It has also been decided that your score is sufficient for you to attend a scout-sniper course, should you choose so."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

Sar made a step backwards. She _made it_.

Finally, the Lieutenant spoke one last time: "Marines, you are dismissed. You have earned a leave for the next twenty-four hours. Pfc Neda, you are to report to me when your leave expires. Keelah se'lai."

"Keelah se'lai."

* * *

**13th August 2179 - 0500 shiptime**  
**Shooting range, MFV Neema, Migrant Fleet**

The entire range was empty - as usual towards the end of the third shift, when everyone was either asleep, or desperately trying to _not_ fall asleep. As Sar entered the room, barely bigger than the bridge, only one other person stood on the other side of it. The Lieutenant, her new instructor.

"There you are. Sorry for the wake up call. How are you holding up?"

This behavior started the alarm in her head again: "Sir?"

"We're not regular Marines here. Not anymore. I'm an SF, you're fast-tracked for what is essentially a Special Forces training course. Good work on doing it that fast, by the way. They call me Shadow, for... reasons obvious.", he explained as he demonstrated his own cloak.

So, the Lieutenant was a bit of a show off, Sar thought. Well, if those were his rules...

She might as well play by the same ones: "Copy. My nickname's Rocket."

He chuckled. "I heard that name on the deck. Welcome on board, Rocket. Let's check the requirements, shall we?"

"Yes, sir."

He brought up his omni-tool, and began to name the requirements, making pause after each for Sar to confirm she meets it: "Serving or assigned to serve on a sniper posting..." - "Yes." - "First class PFT scores..." - "Yes." - "No court martials, NJP's and the like..." - "None." - "Volunteer..." - "All six fingers." - "Scored rifle Expert badge... don't reply, I saw you drop them. And the last one, minimum rank of Corporal."

"No, sir.", she carefully replied.

"Whoa, not so fast, _Corporal_ Neda! Sergeant Reegar pulled _another_ favor. Welcome in the Infiltrator course. Rocket."

"_Infiltrator_? Not sniper?"

"Infiltrator, not sniper. A... Cpl. Vael gave a suggestion for you to undergo the Combat Tech course. You're getting the full sniping package, plus a bonus for being a good Marine."

Shadow then turned around and motioned for her to join him in a firing lane. Sar just now noticed that there were two sniper rifles strapped to his back. He unholstered the first, and passed it to Sar.

"Here's your new rifle. Hand-picked. Future SFs don't get to walk around with _barely_-functioning firearms."

It was... beautiful. Block body, from which a barrel protruded at the front, countered by a stock on the other end, that looked like it would fit a shoulder cozily, together with a hand-fitting grip on the bottom and a sniper scope on the top. And a _slot_ on the left side of the body.

Seeing her confusion, Shadow extended his own, picking up a few cylindrical objects from his equipment harness: "These little things are called thermal clips. The Geth came up with it after the Morning War, and we thought they're handy. They replace the internal heatsinks. You have to reload, like in the old times, but you can push rounds down range _much_ faster. Most weapons would also still be cooling by the time you have a fresh clip in. And they're our little secret."

After a brief pause, he gave Sar one of the thermal clips, and slotted another in his rifle.

"So, what's the name of this rifle, then?"

He chuckled again before answering, with a smile in his voice: "The people who came up with it would _also_ like to know. Load your rifle, and let's get firing, infiltrator courses are... top secret. Congrats on passing the very hush-hush security clearance check, by the way."

Sar crouched in the firing lane, and braced the stock on her shoulder.

"Do as I say now. Inhale. Exhale. Deep, steady breath."

Following the instructions, she took a look through the scope. Suddenly, targets that she was used to being no larger than a small portion of the scope on the old M6 Warrior were easily visible, appearing barely more than a few meters away. On the left side of the scope, a number obviously indicating the range to target was visible, while on the right side, a currently mysterious number read '20'.

"Good so far. Now, I want you to fully inhale, and only exhale about half your lung capacity. Then, take aim and squeeze the trigger slowly, until a shot comes out. Don't do a single pull all the way. You might pull your crosshairs off target."

Sar exhaled... and began to gently apply more and more pressure on the trigger.

_Bang_.

The recoil was something barely felt, much to the difference of any other weapon. The sight barely moved. The counter on the right side would now display number 19 - a clip capacity indicator.

And the target had a very bad day indeed - Not only the shot completely overwhelmed it's kinetic barriers, it actually penetrated the armor... And went out on the other side.

The senior sniper raised his scope, and inspected her doing - a clean bullethole in the right shoulder of the target.

"Not bad for a first time. Before medi-gel, that would probably make him bleed out, scratch a slaver. Fire off a few more, we still have about ten minutes."

The scope's integral rangefinder made things a lot easier, and the advanced mass effect field generator was capable of throwing bullets down range with extreme precision and speed, effectively neutralizing bullet drop at ranges under several hundred meters.

Unfortunately, they didn't have all day, as Shadow's alarm indicated a change from the third to the first shift.

"Ok, let's wrap up. Tomorrow, same time, here. As for your classroom lessons, every day, seventeen hundred. I'll send the location when they tell us. As for the weapon, it's yours until stated otherwise. Keelah se'lai."

Sar walked to the weapon bench on the other side of the room and removed the thermal clip before collapsing and holstering it on her back.

"Keelah se'lai.", she replied before leaving for the door.

* * *

**13th August 2179 - 1703 shiptime**  
**Starboard cargo bay, MFV Neema, Migrant Fleet**

After a few minutes of waiting, the door finally opened.

Shadow looked around the room, before finally greeting Sar: "Already here, Rocket? Good."

"Yes, boss."

"Alright." - he pulled out two old, folding chairs from _somewhere_ among the cargo and unfolded them - "Take a seat and let me get to the point."

They took a seat, in a corridor of barely half a meter width due to all the hoarded cargo, before he continued: "I don't think anyone told you all the nice things Infiltrators do. Like, essentially having trained as spies."

"Spies? No, nobody told me."

"Keelah, I was afraid of this. Let me give you the fast version. When we're done here, you'll be able to get in some of the best secured places in the galaxy... while being watched the entire time, and you'll be able to sneak through a warzone just as well."

The sniper then gave a long, contemplative sigh.

"There's too much information, and too little time. Do you remember your Pilgrimage?"

Caught off guard by the seemingly out-of-place question, it took Sar a moment to find the answer - "Of course I do."

"Thoughts of how you will get through the day, where will you get food, where will you sleep? General _hopelessness_ of those things?"

She shuddered at the thought of hiding under a bridge on Terra Nova, so long ago... "All too well."

"Well, hold onto those feelings until you're older and nobody bites the _'I'm on my Pilgrimage'_ story anymore. Then try to look like you feel like that, problem solved."

"And later?", sounded her question.

"Claiming to be an Exile works wonders..."

* * *

**20th August 2179**  
**Shuttle bay, MFV Neema, Migrant Fleet, in orbit of Ontarom, Newton system, Kepler Verge**

After a week of classroom training, Sar had been briefed about another step of her training - deployment on an uncharted world to learn stealthy movement in the field.

Now, nervously standing in the shuttle bay, she was checking her equipment for the tenth, and last time, as she was finally entering the shuttle with her mentor.

As soon as the shuttle doors closed, Shadow began digging in the equipment on the floor. After a little while, he victoriously sat back up, holding a bag in his hands.

"One of the old cloaks. _Old_ tech, add-on. Used for training purposes," he explained.

Unpacking the bag revealed a thin foil and a small device.

"First, we wrap this - " he pointed at the foil - "around you. It's designed to be suit-fitting. This thing - " now pointing at the device - "goes on the back of your suit. It should interface with your Tool."

Sar picked up the foil and examined it - it was thin, almost colorless, and slightly shiny in the light of the passenger compartment. Then, she shot a glance at Shadow, who obviously wasn't wrapped in a thin foil like this one, before proceeding to put it on.

It proved to be no easier than it looked - the foil had a head of it's own, obviously one of the reasons this idea was abandoned. When a piece was finally in place, it didn't take long for it to try and fall off. After a short struggle, however, it was finally in place.

Upon being secured, the device, now on Sar's back, gave a short _beep_ \- indicating that it was ready to synchonize with an Omni-Tool.

Finally, as the shuttle began it's descent through upper atmosphere, the pilot turned around: "You do realize that _every_ ladar, thermal, and potentially that old human tech is going to catch us once we're in-atmo, sir?"

Before replying, Shadow picked up the rest of his kit: "Yes. That's why we took goods the fleet had for sale. You're going to insert us, then stay on the LZ. Mimic a thruster failure."

He then picked up Sar's backpack: "Come on, Rocket. Put this on, we'll have two minutes to disappear."

"What's the LZ, boss?"

"There's a... sympathetic human family with a farm, further away from the main colony. We lost a girl on her pilgrimage here a few years back, and I was in the neighborhood. Found her safe and sound, sheltered by them. _That_'s the LZ."

"Copy."

Shadow then pinged her on a private channel: "I'll need your help at the end of this. I'll fill you in later."

He then put a finger over his faceplate - a signal to hush, common among most races - to which Sar nodded in agreement.

"Sir, one minute to LZ. Beginning approach," said the pilot as he began to rock the shuttle from side to side, obviously feigning whatever malfunction was supposed to bring the team in undetected.

Shadow began the insertion procedure: "Equipment check! One, ready!"

"Two, ready," Sar sounded off.

On the top of the compartment, a bulb suddenly lit up: "Red light! Prepare for insertion!"

The doors gave a _hiss_, as they began to equalize pressure in the passenger compartment, simultaneously closing off the pilot compartment.

"Ten seconds!"

Finally, the shuttle landed, and the doors opened - "Go, go, go!"

She sprinted out, following her leader - who stopped at a rock, two dozen meters from the shuttle.

"LZ is clear. Let's get moving north, sync up Tac-HUD on the way."

"Errr, sir, I don't _think_ I have a HUD."

Shadow gave her a look: "I knew we forgot something. I'll engage my strobe, your suit should pick that up. Follow me."

* * *

**24th August 2179**  
**Ontarom, one kilometer from the nearest human settlement**

It was three days from their insertion to Ontarom - their scheduled extraction from the planet only an hour away.

Shadow _still_ hadn't filled her in on whatever the thing he needed help with was, but as far as she could figure, it had something to do with their sudden movement to one of the towns close to their 'playground'.

Also, three days hunting local fauna, mostly made up of the planet's equal to cows and giant beetles, and the occasional Varren that the humans sometimes snuck on-world.

Suddenly, her mentor spoke up: "I see another of those beetles. How many rounds do you have in that clip?"

"One round, two more clips."

"I got a beetle on your eleven, take it down, put a fresh clip in and let's get in the city."

Sar sighted in on the beetle, adjusted her elevation, and pressed the trigger - by now a familiar _kick_ in her shoulder announced the round leaving the barrel.

Then, her senses caught up: "In the city? You're _joking_ boss."

"No. It's the reason we're on Ontarom, and not somewhere else. I'll need you on an OP while I knock out a guy in the outskirts of that place."

"Al...right..."

"Alright. Bush, ten o'clock. The OP is about five hundred meters out. Bring out your tool."

They both lit up their Omni-Tools, and Shadow immediately began to transfer data to Sar's tool - a map of the area, with three points marked along one of the remote roads heading out of the town - one of them marking a house with an X, one to the south and the last being to the north.

"X marks the spot. The description of the target is enclosed in those files. Listen well - if anything goes south, call the fleet, callsign High Ground. My callsign is Dagger 1'1, you report as 1'2. RV is back here. Questions, Rocket?"

They reached the bush pointed out by her actual: "No, sir."

He turned to leave towards his position north of the objective, leaving Sar with one last wish of good luck.

As soon as her commander left, she hit her cloak, and - now invisible to anyone around her - set out towards her own observation post.

It wasn't more than a minute later that she noted two humans on a ridge, walking towards her.

Her heart began to race - the old cloak she had didn't have more than three minutes of run time in it's pristine state, as Shadow helpfully noted, and she had been using it for the past few days, likely _shortening_ the time it could hold her invisible to her surroundings.

Instead of panicking, however, she crouched behind the nearest bit of foliage she could, and took to observation of her would-be discoverers.

One of them, an older human male was leading the younger, about her own age, into the valley - closer to her cover.

The younger, a woman in a red-white combat hardsuit, was toting an assault rifle of Alliance make.

As they kept getting closer, Sar decided it's better to start moving - and _maybe_ avoid detection - than stay put, and be discovered for sure.

Her heart still racing, she checked her cloak status - only about ten seconds left, with a shallow depression in the terrain a couple meters behind her, ending in a large bush about fifty meters further - a much better position if she was to wait this out.

It wasn't until then that she realized, that as much as crawling _wasn't_ a friend with the Quarian anatomy, these situations were the reason she was forced to crawl in her Basic training.

Finally, praying to every single ancestor of hers, she made it into the depression and switched her tactical cloak off.

Now in defilade, obscured by terrain to the two humans' sight, she began to slowly crawl towards her goal - the large bush.

As the humans began to close, nearly rendering the depression useless, her cloak gave a green light on her helmet display - another minute or two of being hidden from her surroundings.

Thinking how lucky she is, Sar turned it back on.

Now in cover of her desired location, she turned the cloak back off - the two humans were now dangerously close, and she couldn't afford the quiet hum of the device on her back to give away her position, instead counting on the old fashioned way of camouflaging oneself - they were in hearing range.

"Are you sure you heard those shots from that location?" asked the human Marine.

"Yeah. Sounded a whole lotta different from the hunting rifles we have in the colony, and didn't even sound like the Alliance," the civilian replied.

They heard them. Sar felt her stomach tighten at the realization. The humans heard them.

The Marine, however, inquired - obviously doubtful: "How do you know how an Alliance rifle sounds?"

Now past the infiltrator's cover, their voices began to fade: "First Contact War, youngster. When we get back, tell your commander I need to talk to him."

Already preparing to move, Sar only caught the first half of the Marine's retort: "The 212 is leaving today..."

Allowing herself a moment to let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, Sar again set on her move towards the observation post.

Upon her arrival, Sar took up a well-concealed position among the ever-scarcer green of the planet, as her movements brought her closer to the desert portion of the planet.

Establishing her sight on the target building, a two-floor tall pre-fab unit, she opened the target's description...

...and _froze_. It wasn't a description of a human, asari or turian, as she expected. It rather described an environmental suit, too tall to be a volus.

"Dagger 1'1, this is 1'2. Confirm the target is a _Quarian_, over."

Her radio instantly turned from static, as Shadow replied: "1'1, confirmed. The target is an _exile_. 1'2, you are to observe the back door and neutralize the target should it attempt to exit the building. How copy, over?"

"Solid copy."

Sar went back to reading through the description - so eerily reminding her of _Reegar_.

After a few minutes of observation, her comms brought another message from Shadow: "1'2, be advised. Target is fleeing the building through the rear. Identify and engage. Out."

True to his words, a quarian matching the description left the building through the rear at a rapid pace. Sar levelled her scope, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger.

The target continued for a few more meters, before the bullet struck him - immediately _tossing_ him forward with momentum.

To Sar's surprise, a few moments later, their comm link accepted a _third_ radio: "Dagger 1'1, Bait. Tell 1'2 good shot. Target neutralized, I'd say she qualified."

Instead of commanding her to switch to a backup frequency, Shadow replied: "Copy Bait. See you at the RV. Dagger element, pull out."

Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than an explanation.

* * *

**24th August 2179**  
**Shuttle returning to MFV Neema**

Callsign 'Bait' turned out to be no other than Kal'Reegar - coming planetside to help finish her final test.

Now, he was explaining what happened, up to the point his shields took a hit, and he dropped a decoy in addition to activating a cloak, similar to Sar's.

"Corporal Neda," Shadow finally interrupted the Squad Leader, "I hereby declare you to be a qualified Infiltrator, _fully_ capable of covert operations under _any_ circumstances. Sergeant, do you have anything to add?"

"Yes, Lieutenant," he replied, before turning to her: "Rocket? Welcome to the team."

"Sergeant. Lieutenant. Thank you."

Reegar continued, now with a much more _relaxed_ voice: "You remember what I said? You're an SF now. Congratulations. Ok, back to business. We may have an operation. Not you, Shadow," he chuckled as the Lieutenant gave him a salute saying 'ready for duty, sir'.

"Wilco, Chief."

"Anyway, Myr and Golo should have returned from whatever the Board tasked them with. They'll brief us on what they found, and I'll have to tell them we're a four-strong team now. Be ready to move out. We don't know what they found out."

After that, the rest of the shuttle ride was silent - allowing Sar to wonder what sort of intelligence the rest of her - new - team gathered.

* * *

**A/N: **I think I should get a Master's Degree in procrastination. Anyway, here it is. As always, reviews and other feedback is welcome.

Also, before I forget, here's a dictionary of sorts for those military words and abbreviations:

NJP: Non-Judicial Punishment - used in the US Military, allows for commanders to punish their troops without a court-martial.  
SSDD: Same Stuff, Different Day. The original version is a bit less polite, but let's just assume that Quarians are a very polite race.  
RV: Rendezvous. A place you meet after something, pretty much.  
OP: Observation Post.  
Wilco: Will Comply - this translates pretty much into "Yeah, I will complete that order, sir."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: First Blood**

* * *

**24th August 2179**  
**Crew Deck, MFV Neema, Migrant Fleet**

At last, Sar and her two fellow marines made it to the Neema - and now were seeking refuge in the mess hall, because as Shadow put it, "Three days without proper nutrition paste are bad for morale."

To her surprise, the usually dark, badly lit corridor was completely pitch black, enough for her two companions to switch their visors to night vision. The lights were completely out. She herself had to rely on her omni-tool flashlight to see where she was going.

Finally, rounding a corner, Sar saw light at the end of the corridor - the mess hall.

"Well, this is my stop. Good luck you two," said Shadow as he disappeared around a barely visible corner.

As soon as they entered the mess hall, two figures caught Reegar and Sar off guard - one of them immediately addressing the Sergeant: "_Kal_! You lucky bosh'tet. It was _freezing_."

"Freez...? Myr. Golo. How was your recon op?"

"_Freezing_. Through an _enviro-suit_. And of course Mr. Gadget here forgot to mention thermal shielding," Golo complained.

"I told you I'm sorry. _Guns_," Myr retorted.

"Enough you two. Tell us what you learned..." came from their team leader.

"Us? Well, paint my face and call me Turian! Congratulations, Rocket," Myr said cheerfully, as he raised his hand to shake Sar's.

Golo let out a chuckle before he heeded Reegar's request: "What is there to say? The planet is cold. And there's a nice little prefab at the coordinates we dug up. We confirmed six Batarians, all known slavers. Wanted in Citadel space. What Myr managed, though..."

"...Is not to be said in a public conversation. You know that, Golo."

"What he said, Chief. We have twenty four hours of rest and recovery, then we're back to the regular order of business."

"Excuse the new girl, but what does that mean?" Sar asked, cautiously.

It was the Sergeant, who answered first: "We're Marines. Until the Board calls, it's standart duty."

"Not until tomorrow, it isn't, Kal. Now, Sar'Neda vas Neema, was it? I doubt you'd like 'the new girl', and nicknames are a pain. Have any incidents from training worth sharing? I need to cheer up," Golo replied, all traces of anger now gone from his voice.

The next hour was spent with detailed analysis of Sar's hours-old adventure on Ontarom.

* * *

**30th August 2179**  
**Garden plazza, MFV Rayya, Migrant Fleet**

As promised, the past few days were part of work. For Sar, with her occupation within the Marines, this meant guard duty, mixed up with technical issues, mostly paired with Myr, who more than happily used every moment available trying to teach her some combat-oriented technical wizardry.

However, when the call came, they had to abandon a jammed air recyclation unit - it was thanks to her partner that Sar realized just how _fast_ their response times were.

Now, the entire team was assembled in the garden plazza of the Rayya, waiting for the admirals to finish their preparation. And, in Sar's case, being explained facts about the briefings - mostly coming out of _nowhere_.

And the admirals weren't the only ones preparing, as Myr addressed her with yet another of his numerous explanations: "The board is a busy group, but they do allow questions. Mostly one per man, so choose wisely."

The sheer _pointlessness_ of this one made Sar ask him the question, nagging her for the past few minutes: "Myr, why all the care?"

"You remind me of somebody," he replied, the tone of his voice indicating that this is as much as she will receive.

Thankfully, the resulting awkwardness wasn't long lived, as the doors opened.

To Sar's surprise, in addition to admirals Zorah and Gerrel, two more figures were waiting for them - admiral Raan and admiral Koris.

As the team sat down, Admiral Zorah began his speech:

"Marines. The mission parameters have changed. While the original plan of a base raid on the planet Alchera is still available, recently gathered intelligence suggests that these slavers are planning an operation on the Citadel, intended to capture Pilgrimages in order to gain access to the Fleet, and thus capture Quarians in bigger numbers. Sergeant Reegar, I understand your team newly contains a qualified Infiltration specialist?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I suggest you deploy the infiltrator in order to gain access to the hostile ship. You are not authorized to engage enemy on the Citadel. Priority target is the leader of this group, a Batarian by the name of Ka'hairal Balak. According to our intelligence, neither the Council nor the Alliance have evidence againist this individual. As such, the orders stand to annihilate the enemy and disregard all attempts to surrender. When all opposition is neutralized, destroy their vessel. Sergeant, you're in charge of the operation from here on out. Plan accordingly. Your assets are the Bristol from the Civilian fleet, and the Yaska from the Patrol fleet. Any questions, Marines?" the Admiral concluded.

"Any information on their ship in terms of defence and firewalls?" Myr started.

"None. We expect a standart, frigate-sized vessel trying to act like a civilian. Expect standart civilian to low-grade military electronic countermeasures."

The next question was Golo's: "Can we bring the ship back to the fleet, should opportunity arise?"

"Negative. We expect the ship to be registered to one of the legitimate Batarian corporations. Bringing such a vessel could become problematic. Destroy the ship."

Reegar took his question next, giving Sar more time to think - not that she needed to.

"How many enemies with what equipment are we looking at, Admiral?"

"Intelligence gathered by your team in the past month confirms six hostiles, including Balak. Expect them to be armed with Batarian-made small arms. Last question."

Finally, her turn to ask came. However, since the monologue, there was only one thing she found worthy of asking about: "Sir, you have said to 'disregard all attempts to surrender'. Do we expect them to surrender?"

"No. We don't. If they get caught, they're looking at a life in prison, and they know it. Expect them to fight to the death."

The Admiral paused, looking at his subordinates for a moment before continuing: "Good luck, Marines. You are dismissed. Keelah se'lai."

"Keelah se'lai," they replied.

Just as they were leaving the office, Sar's omni-tool lit up and beeped - new message. As it turned out, they were new orders - for her eyes only. She was to report to the cleanroom on Rayya's crewdeck.

She waved her tool at the others, opened a map of the ship, and went on her way.

* * *

Several minutes later

The purpose for visiting a cleanroom wasn't so hard to figure out - after all of the training, her suit still lacked many of the improvements she saw on her fellow operatives, and her own cloak.

The surprising part of the cleanroom visit was to see an entirely _new_ suit, prepared just for her.

While the room itself, no bigger than necessary and painted in clinical white, was barely a sight to behold, she couldn't help but to gasp in awe.

The suit in front of her was of dark green color, with elements of white here and there, mainly on the veil. It also featured a fully armored breastplate, shinguards, and armored sleeves, all of these being pieces of ceramic plating that could be detached, rather than being an integral part of the suit - a feature for Infiltrators, she thought, as all of her companions suits featured armor as an integral part.

On closer inspection, the suit was also coated in a similar layer of transparent fabric as the one she saw on Shadow's suit - her own tactical cloak.

The visor has also undergone several changes on the first look - now being more opaque, probably to conceal the eyes, naturaly shining through a standart visor. Sar thought that this probably both increased concealment, and made the wearer look more frightening to the enemy.

With a sigh, she went on to unstrapping her old suit - first pulling her veil down to reveal various tubes on the back of her helmet, as well as the buttons required to unsecure the visor.

As soon as the visor came off, she noticed another feature of the room - a mirror.

Removing the rest of her helmet, she took a glance in it. She chuckled, thinking how many humans would drop the 'bucket' act immediately - had the visor not been opaque. Many would indeed be surprised by how _human_ she looked, despite the pale, almost greyish skin with violet spots and almost bald head - unfortunately, it was not to be, thanks to both her savior and bane - the environmental suit.

With a sigh, Sar continued with the rest of the suit - her old, barely armored shinguards were gone in a matter seconds, as she first opened the clasps covering the screws, and then got rid of those as well.

The top, secured in place by many more clasps, as well as friction and clever application of sealing materials, on the other hand, required a little bit of cutting finesse. Noticing a small cutting blade on the table next to the new suit, she swiftly dealth with that particular problem.

The bottom, attached to her boots, didn't last much longer, as it almost fell off by it's own once unsecured in a few places.

Finally done with removing the old suit, she picked up the new one - sans armor and extra equipment, which would be added later - and reversed the process.

With her body sealed from the neck down, Sar picked up another razor, and went on to shaving off the rest of her hair - despite _generations_ of genetical engineering, Quarians kept their hair, albeit with a much slower growth rate. Now, it had to come off, as it could be a potential health hazard after being exposed, even to a cleanroom, and then sealed back in a suit.

Done with the tedious task of shaving, Sar put on the majority of her helmet before looking one last time at her own reflection. With another sigh, she attached the visor and secured it in place.

With most of the job done, she looked at what was left of her new suit to assemble - and noticed a few gadgets that were previously out of her sight.

The first or those, were _thicker, bulkier_ boots - obviously Mag-Boots for EVA. The other was a relatively long steel rope, with a magnet on one end, and a compact reel on the other, with instructions to attach the reel to the hip.

Heeding the instructions, she finally fired up the suit mainframe.

She instantly felt, as well as heard, the suit to turn itself from a mostly useless piece of expensive tech into a true environment suit. A needle in her left , for administering anti-biotics and other first-aid related liquids, being by far the least pleasant of the many actions performed. Finally, the mainframe reported: "Boot-up completed. Suit ready."

The next few minutes marked a struggle to attach all of the extra armor - a breastplate, shinguards, and a few longer pieces of armor, one set stretching from her shoulders to her elbows, the other covering her legs.

Pressing the button by the door, she indicated the completion of her task and fired up her omni-tool to check the new tricks her suit had up it's sleeve.

* * *

**1st September 2179**  
**Airlock, MFV Bristol, leaving the Migrant Fleet**

"Myr, how much time do we have, exactly?"

"A two day's worth to the Citadel. Then it's all yours, Rocket."

She shuddered: "Thanks for reminding me. What do we have to do for the next two days?"

"Combat tech, room breaching, small unit tactics... Forty eight hours of _fun_."

"And _maybe_, you should join the fun and _pick up the bag_," Golo rudely interjected.

"You're not still angry about Alchera, are you?"

Sar let them bicker, and turned to Reegar: "Do they always do this?"

The team leader just shook his head.

As they made their way towards the crew quarters, Sar noticed a lot of stray looks, as most of the crew wasn't used to quite so heavily armed and armored figures roaming the decks.

At last, they arrived to their destination - a cubicle on the crew deck, usually intended to accomodate a small family.

"And here's the first thing to get used to: _no_ privacy. The crews usually keep us like this - apart from everyone else, packed together. I believe the humans would call it '_a base inside a base_'," Myr remarked with a sigh as he dropped his bag of equipment next to one of the cots.

With a smile, she let her own bag go on the neighboring cot, and took a look around the cubicle: an unpersonalized space, probably without a more permanent resident, the bare, clinically white walls resembling a cleanroom more than a living space. In other words, the standart setup for disused living quarters - kept in reserve for future crew members, fresh off their pilgrimages.

Finally done with unpacking the bare essentials - mostly weapons and ammunition - Myr looked up from his rifle, before announcing to Reegar, in a child-like voice: "Daddy, me and sister will leave you with mommy. Have fun!"

Left without a choice, Sar followed the combat engineer out of the room, suddenly full with laughter.

* * *

**3rd September 2179**  
**The cubicle, MFV Bristol, Mass Relay network**

Sar was just alone in the room, adjusting her scope, when her omni-tool lit up like a christmas tree.

At first, it didn't quite worry her. Then she opened the message.

_Team,_  
_drop all duties you have,_  
_meet on the bridge,_  
_double time,_  
_one hour to target._  
_Reegar._

WIth her heart suddenly racing, she let the scope be, and darted out of the cubicle. At the end of the corridor, she met Myr, obviously also in a hurry.

"Rocket, did you...?"

Sar nodded, and both of them broke into a sprint through the narrow corridors of the ship, at times just barely avoiding collision with the crew.

Upon their arrival to the bridge, she barely had any time to look around the small room, before Myr took her above the elbow and dragged her aside, towards a small group whispering in the corner.

On closer examination, the members of the group proved to be Reegar, Golo and the Captain of the Bristol - discussing the plan.

"Kal, we're here. What happened?" Myr demanded, noticeably distressed.

The leader silenced him with a motion of hand, before finishing the matters with the Captain.

Meanwhile, Golo offered an explanation: "The signature we've got. It's matching too many."

"_Damn_. What's the plan then?"

Golo just shrugged.

Finally, the Captain left, and Reegar turned his attention to the rest of the team.

"Listen up," he whispered, "we've a problem. The ship signature you two," he looked towards Myr and Golo, "back at Alchera is a rough match for about a dozen ships on the Citadel. The precision scan we'd need to identify the right vessel would warn _every_ intelligent person within range."

"So, what does that mean?" Sar asked.

"That means we can't infiltrate unseen. We'll need to use an Adasan Vessel, if you know what I mean."

Suddenly, all three of them turned their gaze towards Sar - who suddenly became very uncomfortable with the plan. The trick used on the colony world Adas to bring down an insurgency was rather well known - the Navy mimicked leaving a vessel to the insurgents. A vessel packed to the brim with hidden equipment, meant to disable all of their countermeasures, and turn the fight into a one-sided _slaughter_.

And now, she was supposed to be that... _ship_, get captured and take the enemy apart from within.

"No. _No_! I'm brave, not _stupid_!"

"And that makes all the difference. A_ brave_ person has the training, the equipment, and the backup to pull such thing off. A stupid person would have _none_ of those."

Sar was about to keep objecting - when Myr stood up to Reegar's defence: "He's right girl. Let's hear the plan. I'll make sure you're ready for this."

Not finding any fitting arguments, Sar was forced to just listen to what they had ready for her...

"The new plan is easy. One of us will be the Adasan while the other three remain on ship. The one going in will have a permanently active beacon. When they're captured and taken on board, we'll know which ship it is. The problem is, we can't do the boarding within Citadel space. The fleet's currently somewhere in the Terminus. We're going to plant intel on you," he finally acknowledged Sar as the person going in, "that will lead them to it. They will need you alive and well to get them through. That's when the action starts. We have a special go-code with the traffic control. They won't engage, leave it to us. Rocket, you'll get the phrase when we're docking. Any questions?"

A chorus of 'no' replied to the answer as they dispersed.

* * *

As soon as they were back at the cubicle, preparations went in full swing.

As it turned out, Myr carried a lot more than just weapons, ammunition and some personal effects in his bag - as his cot was now literally covered in various gadgets, as well as OSDs containing both intelligence and combat application programs.

It was the latter which was more used, as they were busy uploading all of the programs to Sar's omni-tool.

"Careful now. Most of these are fine-tuned for their respective roles. Such as this-" he _cried_ out in unpleasant surprise when Sar tried one of the programs - and it formed a two-feet long _blade_ at the far end of the tool.

"Oops. Sorry," Sar apologized as she made the blade dissipate once again.

"It's ok. Just be careful," her mentor waved her off as he produced a cylindrical object from the pile of equipment.

"This is an _unarmed_ drone. It can cloak, it has a camera, and it's a perfect tool for an Infiltrator. It's also yours."

He then proceeded to throw the drone at Sar, who just barely caught it - and when she looked at him again, he already had another of the OSDs in his hand: "Install _this_. It's the drone's user interface. You have-" he checked his tool's time - "half an hour to learn how to use it. It's fairly straight forward, so off to the cargo bay with you."

With a nod of thanks, Sar made her way out the door, and towards the cargo bay.

* * *

_The Citadel_.

The center of galactic life - and it was getting close.

Sar was ready to enter the airlock, when the Sergeant caught up to her: "Here, have these."

"That's... A spare glove? And an omni-tool? Thanks, Chief. I've no punctures, any my Tool's good to go."

"Yes, and the Tool will be the _first_ thing they strip. Put the glove _over_ your standart glove, and leave it on. Then strap _this_ broken piece of nothing over the whole thing."

She took the two objects from Reegar - it was true that the glove was two sizes bigger than her own hand. Without delay, she put it on.

Despite being of mismatched color, any layman wouldn't notice that there is anything hidden under. She completed the ruse by closing the broken Tool's bracelet around her hand.

It was quite uncomfortable - but her team leader was right. The tool would be the first thing to lose to captivity. Considering that majority of her abilities counted on some level of technological wizardry, that wasn't anything she wanted to happen.

* * *

The airlock closed behind her.

"Equalizing interior pressure with exterior atmosphere."

Before the airlock finished it's task, Sar quickly checked her equipment. The drone was safely at her belt, reminiscing a tube of food paste. Her compact sidearm, concealed within her veil - as most wouldn't touch the helmet, in fear of damaging it. The last was her Omni-Tool - the _real_ Tool - which was now safely hidden under the extra glove.

The exit hatch finally opened, revealing a bustling trade dock, full of ships from many different races.

Sar walked down the holding area - after a quick look, the ceiling told her she was in Bay E28 - past the cargo holds on her left and another Bay on her right, towards the information booth.

"Excuse me," she addressed the Turian in blue combat hardsuit currently on duty, "can you tell me how to get to the Wards?"

The Turian turned his gaze up from his paperwork, and _instead_ of answering her, opened comms: "Holding Area E, Information booth. Got a 15-75 here, requesting backup."

Not ten seconds later, she was perfectly surprised, as two more Turians in same blue hardsuits and military-grade weaponry came running with their weapons raised. Could she be compromised?

"Get down! On the ground!"

"Hands behind your back!"

Realizing any resistance is futile, she dropped to the ground, hopeless.

Soon enough, she could feel Omni-Cuffs, restraining her hands.

The Turians then helped her to her feet, before leading her through the rest of the holding area, and through the C-Sec checkpoint on the left side, past the cargo holds, and finally, into an elevator.

As it happened, the elevator brought them down to the Presidium - but Sar wasn't given a moment to look around, as the C-Sec men led her towards aircar parking, and their patrol car.

* * *

It wasn't a long ride, and before she knew it, the two officers of law let her out of the vehicle - in the C-Sec Academy.

And then proceeded to lead her into the interrogation rooms.

While sitting in the room was by no means a comfortable development, at least it gave ample time to think and remember. Judging by her 'welcome' to Terra Nova on her Pilgrimage two years ago, C-Sec _could _have just jumped the gun. Even if the humans did not restrain her and treat her like a terrorist.

No. The operation could still be alive. Unfortunately, she had no way of knowing, as the Bristol severed all contact as soon as she left the airlock. Her final decision was to play it safe, and continue with the Pilgrimage act.

Before long, the interrogation room's door opened to reveal another two officers - an Asari, and one of the Turians who brought her in.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the Asari was the first to speak: "What is your business on the Citadel?"

"I... I'm on my Pilgrimage. What is happening? I didn't _do anything_!"

"I'm the one asking questions here! What leads you to the station?"

"That's enough. We do this clean and fast. Explain the 'Pilgrimage' part, please," the Turian spoke up.

Judging by their behaviour, either the Asari was way out of line... or this was a typical Good Cop/Bad Cop scenario. During her lessons in the Neema's cargo bay, Shadow warned her about this particular method. He claimed that cooperating as much as possible is one of the ways to convince people of their lies. He also warned that this method results in the interrogated spilling the truth in most cases.

Hoping with every fiber of her being, she continued the act: "A Pilgrimage is a rite of passage among my people. When we return with a suitable gift, we are accepted as a crew of a ship, and full adults."

The Asari struck again, not leaving her a moment to breathe: "Is that really so? Well, miss..."

"Sar'Neda nar Iktomi"

"... miss _nar Iktomi_, what exactly are you seeking on the station?"

The bad cop took the bait. The operation was still running. Relieved, Sar explained: "I honestly do not know. A deal for raw materials, a new ship to bring back, perhaps know-how?"

The officers exchanged a glance, after which the Asari left the room.

Now left with just the Turian, the action left her wondering - was this is? What was coming next?

The remaining officer looked her in the eyes, allowing her to see him properly for the first time. His was a face she wouldn't forget for many months to come. With pale scales, green eyes and cyan facepaint, this rugged face must have been every criminal's nightmare. And now, it was assessing her with a genuinely _scary_ scowl.

Finally, he broke eye contact and brought up his Omni-Tool: "I need you to answer several questions."

As it turned out, '_several questions_' would translate into a two-hour questioning, meant to test her story for holes that would convict her of whatever crime they thought she managed within thirty seconds of arrival.

However, after those two hours spent asking questions, and only gaining a very in-depth description of the concept of Pilgrimage in return, her interrogator finally declared his effort pointless, and let her go.

Now standing in front of the C-Sec Academy, Sar surveyed her immediate surroundings. The direction board in front of the elevator that brought her here claimed she was right below the Embassies for various races. Right over her head was a bridge, leading across the Presidium to the other side. What spurred her curiosity was what the bridge was leading over. There was a giant lake. On a space station, this must've consumed enough resources to keep the entire Migrant Fleet drifting on through space.

What however demanded immediate attention was the holographic direction board in front of her eyes. While indicating the Embassies one floor above and behind, it also claimed that the shortest route lies to the left - and surely enough, there was an inclination ending in a sharp turn, leading above.

To the right, the board claimed what Sar was looking for would be found - the entrance to the five Wards, which were stretching over the central torus that formed the Presidium.

Now knowledgeable of the way towards where her objective would most likely lie, Sar took off at a casual pace, trying to not raise any suspicion. Not two dozen steps later, a large statue across the lake caught her eye. After closer inspection, it proved to be the Krogan monument, built after the Rachni Wars. She heard of it before - but to see it with her own eyes, that was quite something else.

Sighing, she resumed her walk towards the Wards. This was not a day to look at monuments. She had an operation to complete.

Within minutes, she was at the plazza with Wards entry, and yet another monument in sight. She had to come here on vacation, if the Fleet ever regained the homeworld, she thought.

With a deep breath, Sar delved towards her target in the Wards...

Some two elevator rides later, she was finally in her destination. Now, to poke around and see if she could find the Batarian slavers here.

Immediately after exiting the elevator, a door on her right caught her eye. She swiftly pushed the door controls, finding a seedy alleyway there. Next to the doorway, there was another directions board - this one revealing that the alley in fact led to Chora's Den.

A 'gentlemen club'. What better place to start looking than such a place?

Just as she cleared a flight of stairs leading into the alley, two bipedal figures departed the shadows on the other side of the alley. Her suit's external sensors picked them up nearly instantly. They also picked up something else. _Behind her_.

The two figures in front began to close the distance, revealing themselves to be Batarian. As soon as they were close enough to notice the details of their faces, understanding struck Sar. The two faces in front matched two of her targets. They also blocked her path.

Her suit's sensors told her the third '_something_' also began moving. Another Batarian?

Hoping she can still back out and return, better prepared, she attempted conversation: "Uh... hello. Do you know how to get to the Markets?"

They did not respond. Instead, she felt something hit her in the back of her neck, and everything went _black_.

* * *

**Date unknown, 2179**  
**Location unknown**

At first, the noises were distant. Over time, however, they felt louder and louder, finally waking Sar up.

Upon opening her eyes, she could see that she was no longer on the Citadel - this was a ship's cargo hold, packed to the brim with crates of unknown and likely illegal origin.

On closer examination, she realized two facts - first, she was in a _cage_. Second, the noise that woke her up was actually _sobbing_.

There was _another_ Quarian girl - probably a true Pilgrimage, and not an act, like herself - on the other side of the cage, sobbing uncontrollably.

Sar sat up, alerting her fellow prisoner to her waking. However, instead of greeting her, the girl began crying even more.

After a moment of thought, she attempted to calm the girl down: "Ssh, look at me. Everything is going to be alright."

The answer she received was mixed with sobbing: "N-no... y-you don't rea-realize... we're d-d-_dead_... W-We can't contact the f-fleet... If... if they t-try... we h-have to..." the girl broke into hysterical cry again.

Seeing that nothing could be achieved at the moment, Sar proceeded to check her equipment - the pistol was there, hidden in the veil, despite her expectations of it disappearing. The old Omni-Tool given to her by Reegar was gone, but the spare glove remained - and under it, her actual Tool. What was missing, however, was the unarmed drone from Myr.

Quickly looking around, checking for guards, she booted up the Tool and remotely accessed the drone.

As the drone silently turned on, her own HUD displayed extra information: the drone's cloak, above her own, the drone's physical status, reading intact, and lastly, a silhouette, displaying the location of her new toy.

Sar quickly glanced at the girl in the corner, still _completely_ oblivious to what was happening. Good. If the girl had no idea, the chance of her unintentionally blowing Sar's cover was non-existant.

Once again turning her attention to the control interface, she enabled the camera in the drone, and it's own sensors. The news were surprisingly good - it was on the bridge, with three Batarians, none of which were looking.

Pleasantly surprised, she ordered the drone to cloak and take up position at the ceiling of the room - the information would prove useful later, as well as the sounds it could relay.

Before she could exit, however, one of the screens in front of the only sitting Batarian - the pilot - caught her sight. The ladar, galaxy's primary ranged detection tool along with thermal sensors.

They were closing to a dot concentration so large, it may as well have been a single huge contact. A concentration the size she never saw before, with the exception of...

The realization struck her harder than a space station. The displayed formation was the _Migrant Fleet_.

Sar shut off the Tool and began to nervously walk around the cage. There wasn't anything to do - just hope that the Yaska was still tracking whatever signal they had on her...

_If_ they had any to begin with.

Then, the lights in the cargo bay lit up, fully revealing the not-so-large room. As it turned out, the nearest box on the right side of the elongated room was hiding the door.

Before long, a Batarian walked in the view and casually strolled towards the cage, an act that the girl responded to with a hysterical "No!" as she backed away from their captor.

Instead of turning his - or was it a female? - gaze towards the crying girl, the Batarian focused solely on Sar: "You. You're coming with me. No funny things," he said, accompanied by exaggerated motion commands, thinking Sar has no means to understand.

As the Batarian opened the cage, there was also _no_ signs of restraints, as they probably considered her no more than a scared to death young Quarian. This gave her better chances for a devastating first strike.

Now that she was free, however, a choice presented itself - kill this Batarian and protect her fellow prisoner at all costs, or go with whatever was left of the contingency plan - barely explained - and pray to the ancestors for the best.

Afraid of her inexperience, Sar chose the latter.

She stepped out of the cage, grabbed none too gently by the Batarian as soon as she was out.

Dragged through the door, she saw that their room was merely a secondary bay, as now they were walking on a catwalk, with the lower floor of the main bay full of more cages - a proof that these slavers had huge plans.

Before Sar could notice any details, her guard kicked her in the stomach and continued towards the door at the far end of the large room, which proved to be an elevator.

However, instead of down, it went up, where it opened to a small corridor with two options - to the left side, which bearing the sings of an airlock, and ahead. They took the doors in front of them.

Recognizing the bridge from her drone's footage, Sar quickly assessed her chances. With two more Batarians, a straight fight would be even more of a suicide than the cargo bay. Thankfully, her guard left as soon as she entered the room.

Especially if one of them had an assault rifle aimed right at her, motioning towards the long-range communications, which just went live: "Unknown vessel, we have you on ladar. Identify yourself."

Knowing what she had to do, Sar initiated the wireless transfer of a virus, conveniently left for her by Myr, which should cripple the vessel. Written by a person obviously experienced in these situations, the virus' small size helped a rapid transfer, which, together with stealthy transfer initiation by a finger combination, helped to remain undetected.

The speaker went live again: "Unknown vessel, you are approaching the Migrant Fleet. State your intentions _at once_."

The virus was already eighty percent uploaded... "They cried, in help, defenceless againist the enemy - their call heeded by the finest."

"Acknowledged. Commencing."

Hearing the second word giving her away, Sar nearly panicked - but regained her composure quickly enough to cloak and step aside to dodge a hail of bullets from the Batarian leader.

The pilot watched the entire system die on him in the meantime: "Sir, communications, drive core, weapons, barriers, firewalls... all offline!"

"It's the bucket! Kill-" he never completed a command, as Sar now stood next to him, with her pistol drawn, the barrel smoking. From a side window, a ship could be seen drifting towards them, with three figures attached on the hull, but with insufficient time for proper observation, she let it slip from her mind.

Instead, she turned on the pilot. Staring in shock at the now-decloaked Quarian Infiltrator, he reached for his own sidearm - only to be a moment too late to reach it.

As the pilot fell on his control panel, Sar let her armed hand drop along her body and brought up her Omni-Tool to recall her drone, still at the ceiling of the room.

With a barely audible _whizz_, the drone decloaked and decreased it's altitude until it was about head-high in arms reach, before shutting off, allowing Sar to deftly snatch it out of the air.

Finally safe, she made her way towards the window, securing the drone back on her tool belt along the way.

The ship drifting alongside the Batarian vessel was too small to be a frigate, but too large to be a mere shuttle, with several mass accelerator cannons sticking out of the hull, and a color by far too similar to that of overused materials, with large quarian letters readin Yas-

Without a warning, a blinding amount of light, along with a deafening blast, filled the room. Sar attempted to make it to some semblance of cover, only to trip over the dead Batarian commander's body and fall to the ground.

Completely _defenceless_, she expected a swift demise.

_Instead_, she felt a pair of hands, trying to sit her up.

As her vision returned back to her, she could see various portions of her HUD disfunctional and just rebooting. What she also saw, were three Quarian Marines.

Closest to her was Myr, who helped her to sit up before attempting to diagnose her for injuries with his Omni-Tool. Behind him, she could see Reegar, armed with an assault rifle, and Golo, who was toting a vicious-looking shotgun.

When Myr rose up from her, Sar finally blinked off the last of the stun effect: "The cargo bay."

Golo, examining her handiword on the Batarian commanders head, was the first to ask: "Cargo bay... what?"

"A prisoner."

"Sounds like our work is not done," Reegar joined the conversation, "Guns, on point. Gadget, take care of Rocket. The operation goes on, codenames only."

"Aye, Chief."

"Will do, Chief."

Upon answering Reegar, the two went on to their respective duties - Golo covering by the elevator, Myr finishing up his medical scan of Sar.

Once the scan was complete, he reached for an assault rifle on the ground - the property of now-dead Batarian leader.

"Here, catch," he said as he threw the weapon at Sar, who caught it mid-air. The weapon was already fully cooled, despite firing a burst not two minutes earlier.

"So, Gadget, what was that?" Sar asked, using Myr's nickname.

"Arc-banger," he simply replied before stepping in the elevator, seemingly unwilling to continue the conversation.

When they were all prepared, their team leader gave the go order, and the elevator began it's journey down, towards the cargo bay.

There, two Batarians with pistols and in engineering outfits attempted to stop them - only to find an early grave.

According to their information, there were only two more on board.

The first words spoken since the elevator ride were orders to prepare a door breach on the room where the poor Quarian girl was held.

"Bang and clear. Rocket, cloak and flank," Reegar ordered quickly.

Myr reached for another grenade on his harness and nodded at his commander. At the same time, Sar cloaked.

Then Golo opened the door, and three visible and one invisible Marine immediately poured through, following a short delay, allowing the Arc-banger to detonate inside.

The only Batarian inside was using his prisoner, the Quarian girl, as a shield, holding a pistol to her head.

"Drop your weapon! On the ground!" - "Down! Drop it!" - "Let her go!"

Sadly, the Batarian ignored their commands, creating a stand off that the other three Marines seemingly hesitated to risk resolving from their angle.

Instead, the enemy attempted to bargain: "Let me go, and she lives!"

The only breach of silence in the room was his captive's quiet sobbing.

While her fellow Marines were the distraction, Sar silently walked around the Batarian and took up position on the right side, weapon trained at the temple of her enemy.

Again, the Batarian attempted to bargain his way to freedom: "I said _out of my way_, or she dies!"

The words however fell on deaf ears, as Reegar's only words were "Rocket. Terminate."

Despite feeling slightly conflicted about the order to some degree, Sar only needed one more look at the weapon, still threatening to blow off the girl's head...

She pressed the trigger.

As the bullet left the barrel, her cloak also gave out - unable to keep her hidden after such an offensive maneuver as firing a weapon. Before it was even done revealing her to the surrounding world, she could see the rest of the team moving like a well oiled machine.

Golo gave up on the shotgun, instead drawing his machine gun from his back to cover the door approach - to Sar, it seemed like he knew something she didn't, preferring to mow that potential trouble down with enormous firepower.

Myr rapidly caught the girl, who fainted, and gently laid her on the ground, once again bringing his omni-tools medical suite.

Reegar slowly walked towards Sar, who herself collapsed into a sit, her back to the wall, haunted by conscience.

"I killed them, sir," she said with guilt in her voice. "I killed them."

"And it was the right thing," the team leader countered.

"Yes... yes it was," Sar replied with a whisper.

"The first time is always worst. Don't think about those you kill. Think about those you save," he offered as final words of consolation before returning to his usual business attitude: "Gadget, take care of the girl. Rocket, you're on guard duty. Guns, we're looking for the sixth bosh'tet."

Sar nodded, picked up the captured assault rifle she dropped by her feet and took up a position by the door, which closed after Reegar and Golo were out of the room.

"Keelah. Did they hold you in _this_?"

Surprised by the question, she realized it was Myr who spoke.

"Yes. I was unconscious though," she replied.

"So the scan was right. How long since you woke?"

"An hour? Feels like an _eternity_," she sighed.

After that, they fell silent until the remaining two Marines returned to extract together.

Once they reached the airlock, one of her colleagues tapped Sar on the shoulder, telling her to not move. After a short feeling of something happening on the back of her suit, the mainframe let her know what happened: "External oxygen supply connected. Oxygen level is one hundred percent."

Then someone pressed the cycle button, and the airlock opened.

"Warning. Entering vacuum. Internal oxygen supply level one hundred percent. External oxygen supply one hundred percent. Entering Zero Gravity."

Following the rather obvious explanation by the mainframe, Myr picked up her own EVA magnet and fired it off at the ship near them - the Yaska - using his Omni-Tool.

When she looked to her left, she saw Reegar fastening the rescued girl to his own suit and firing off his own EVA magnet. Golo was already examining the leap.

However, instead of taking it, he lined up in front of Reegar. Myr stood a little to the side, signalling for Sar to line up as the last person in the newly-created queue of sorts.

Then, Myr lifted a hand and dropped it again in a cutting motion - to which Golo responded by leaving the airlock. Once he was across, the combat engineer repeated the motion for Reegar, who half-jumped, half-stumbled out into the void due to the girl strapped to him.

When he also attached to the Yaska's hull, Myr gave Sar a short look, before repeating the motion for a third time.

With a running start, Sar jumped towards the Yaska, guided by the strong steel rope at the other end of her magnet. After a brief sensation of confusion where's up and where's down, she impacted the hull with a thud. Scrambling around, she briefly panicked, until her mag boots helped her find a hold on the hull.

Once she felt firm hull under her feet, she looked around to see Myr landing with practiced ease and the rest of the team making their way to the airlock, not more than a dozen meters away from her.

She was inside within half minute, together with the rest.

As soon as the airlock cycled, a medical team rapidly entered from inside the ship, taking the girl away. They would probably never see her again.

"With a little luck, we won't do this for a few months," Myr said as she collapsed into a sit in the airlock.

* * *

**A/N:** I know, two months. It took me whole two months. College came up, kind of messes with my writing. No more excuses, I promise.

Some might wonder, why did Sar kill two Batarians without as much as a flinch, but then felt guilty about the third. The first two are an inspiration taken from the US Rangers' raid on the Cabanatuan POW camp, Philippines 1945. There's a story that claims that two of the US Rangers on their first ever combat operation were engaged while opening a gate, but they neutralized the opposition without a second thought - claiming it was due to their training that they were so drilled, and responded like battle-hardened veterans.  
As for the second... Not a threat to herself, specifically. It was her first kill that wasn't an immediate threat to herself.

I promise. Chapter 5 is coming... eventually.


End file.
